Single Combat
by JulieTranslator
Summary: The sequel to "Spider Web". (www dot fanfics dot me forward slash index dot php?section equals 3&id equals 1035). Four and a half years after the events in "Spider Web". Danger reaching out from the past. A new perspective on the old characters; a duel between love and revenge. AU to the HP7 Epilogue; characters and back story from "Spider Web".
1. Prologue - Chapter 1 - James Potter

**This is the sequel to "Spider Web" (original name is "Поединок"), another beautiful gift from the Sphinx, who has now kindly blessed my humble efforts with the first novel. :)**

**Unlike with my translation of "Spider Web", where I had translated most of it before I ever began to post, this one is in real time, which means that the chapters will probably take longer and will undergo more updates as I go along. Well, let the journey begin!**

**Once again, if anyone feels like beta-ing, I will be most grateful.**

**Single Combat  
**

_Summary: The sequel to "Spider Web". "The past is linked with the present by an unbroken chain of events flowing one out of another." (A.P. Chekhov) Four and a half years after the events in "Spider Web". Danger reaching out from the past. A new perspective on the old characters; a duel between love and revenge. AU to the HP7 Epilogue; characters and back story from "Spider Web"._

**Prologue.**

_"The past is linked with the present by an unbroken chain of events flowing one out of another." _

_A.P. Chekhov _"The Student"

_You are strong, but your strength is waning._

_Someone's dealt the cards – you are playing._

_Strings of your past hold fast – you are trapped._

_Strings of fear – you're a marionette._

_Choices made – out of your control._

_Do not wait for help – it's not near:_

_Life's a skilled master puppeteer;_

_In the battle that's direst of all –_

_Single combat within your soul._

_**Chapter 1. James Potter.**_

In the last few days things were definitely looking up for him, and nothing could wipe the happy smile off the face of James Potter Jr. His eyes constantly crinkled mischievously, lips stretched in a wide smile, arms reached out if not to embrace, at least to pat someone on the shoulder.

It was with this look on his face that James, the favourite of his big family, entered the living room of his house – through the front door, which did not happen often even with him, let alone the other Potters, the Weasleys, and most other relatives who generally preferred the fireplace.

He tossed his uniform bag on the floor by the front door, kicked off his sneakers, and pulled his T-shirt over his head – all without breaking his stride. It was stifling outside; August had either decided to break all existing records in extreme temperatures or make James realize that Quidditch practice was not the worst thing that could happen to a person this side of Heaven.

The chap walked into the sunny kitchen, peered into the refrigerator and took out a carton of juice, downing almost half of it in one gulp. He felt better now, almost great. The sun began to set outside the window, and James wished for it to get stuck somewhere below the horizon, to let them all breathe a bit of fresh air.

Potter returned to the living room, took out his wand and sent light breeze sweeping over the room. On the chair he saw the shawl that Xenia liked to wear in the evenings. James picked it up and lay down on the couch, inhaling the floral fragrance of his wife's perfume.

His wife… They have been together for four years, and he never knew a moment's regret. From the first moment, when Scorpius Malfoy introduced him to his cousin who'd come from Greece to attend Hogwarts, James always wanted to be near her.

She was the only one who could calm him down, bring him peace, return him to reason, which was often sorely needed back in his school days. And it wasn't even that Xenia Verdi (no, Potter, he liked that better) turned out to be a remarkable healer, who could see into the most intangible of human attributes – the soul. He simply loved her, for no rhyme or reason.

Although, if reasons were needed, he always had plenty: she saved his father, who had almost drowned in grief and guilt after their mother's murder; she helped find his sister after she had been kidnapped; she saved him – scores of times. She was the most incredible person he has ever known…

His stomach growled. Yet, ever since they started living together, he never had a meal if Xenia wasn't home. Not because he could not cook (he could go over to someone's house, his father's or Rose's, for instance, who would gladly feed him), but because he didn't want to eat without her. It was better to hold off a bit, and then cook supper together. This tradition was almost a year old now, and James never went against it. Since the evening she became his wife…

James smiled, stretching blithely on the couch and closing his eyes. Why, he simply could not recall their wedding day without grinning. What new husband could boast of his just-blessed new wife receiving an owl, informing her that one of her patients had taken a turn for the worst, and looking imploringly at her new husband, reluctant to leave, yet pulled toward her patient with all her essense? And, of course, James nodded in response to her plea, because he knew full well whom he had married. And he didn't just let her go – he went with her and spent the whole evening with a magazine in his lap while she, a white smock thrown over the wedding gown, was counseling her patient in a private room at St. Mungo's.

Afterwards, they received congratulations from Xenia's colleagues, and by the time they made it home, it was long past midnight. She tried to apologize, but he would have none of it: he had never had nor would he ever have a happier day in his life.

Still, today was no ordinary day, and that was why James hasn't stopped smiling ever since he received the formal offer to play for the "London Lacewings", one of the leading Quidditch teams in the British and Irish Quidditch League. He was happy and proud to no end, although he liked his present team quite a bit, he felt accepted there, and had already made it out of the reserves; yet, being even a reserve player for the "Lacewings" meant a chance for a spot on the English National Quidditch Team. Had he ever thought that he would get that chance? And after only two seasons in the League!

He lay on the couch, thinking about how he would break the news to Xenia. He knew that she would be happy for him, as always. And tomorrow his father would find out and be proud as punch, because Harry Potter took his son's Quidditch career very close to heart, attended every game, and he and James analyzed various points of the matches afterwards.

Albus Severus, this skinny creature who knew very little about Quidditch, but who also never missed his brother's games (a.k.a. sleeping through most of them, only to wake up to the final ovations), would be jumping for joy, although the little brother understood Quidditch about a well as James – ballet. Hermione would smile.

And tomorrow he would also be telling Malfoy and Lily. His sister's reaction was easily predictable – after Xenia, she was the closest to James. And Scorpius, his best mate for most of the last ten eventful years, would probably just hem – public displays of emotion were not his style; even the four years he and Lily have been together did not change him _that_ much. But he and Malfoy would be able to go wet the good news…

Of course, Rose, his favorite cousin has long been warning them that this kind of celebrating could lead straight to alcoholism. However, their school experience proved that they were safe from that. The main thing was to know where to stop, and Scorpius Malfoy knew that very well. His aristocratic upbringing has served them in good stead so far, and James was used to relying on his friend's judgement in many ways. Though a despised Slytherin, still… not completely lost for society, he was. It was a good thing that James took him under his wing back in his second year at Hogwarts; otherwise, who knows how this Malfoy Jr. would have turned out. And now he is quite all right, barely even green anymore, and besides, tightly bound to Lily Potter, which could only serve to Scorpius' benefit. Has served already… It is nice to feel like a saviour of Slytherin souls. Not many people can boast of that…

The sun turned a corner and stopped glaring him in the eyes, and James slowly drifted off to sleep, enjoying the slight breeze on his face. If you cannot eat, sleep – an important rule of survival at Hogwarts. He must remember to tell Albus about it, as he is already packing his trunk and gearing up to torment the teachers. James silently wished Professor McGonagall , the Hogwarts Headmistress and Professor Faust, her deputy and the head of the Gryffindor House to stock up on stamina and patience. They have had a whole three years' break from a boy named Potter. Let's hope for their sake that Albus, this little catastrophe with grand ambitions does not find himself a Slytherin best mate… With that cheerful thought James let himself fall asleep.

"Jim…"

He slowly opened his eyes at the sound of the beloved voice. Xenia was sat on the edge of the couch, watching him with a smile. Her eyes reflected the light of the candle on the end table. The room was dusky. He must have been sleeping for a while…

"Hello," he smiled back, drawing her closer and kissing her on the lips. He took out the hair clip, and her golden hair covered them like a wave. "Why so long?"

"Working," she sat up straight, tossing her hair back. Xenia was watching him closely and tenderly, as usual, smiling slightly. Something about her was different today, but what? She – the healer of souls – was the one who could easily put her feelings and intuition into words, while he merely sensed something unusual about her.

She reached out with a cool palm and stroked his cheek. He caught her fingers and pressed them to his lips, gazing at the golden-haired vision of a wife that Merlin had seen fit to reward him with (only for what?).

"I am pregnant," Xenia said quietly, looking into his still sleepy eyes.

It took James a second to process that, and then he sat up abruptly.

"Pregnant?"

"Yes," she said, without backing off, now face to face with him.

"You mean, we are having a baby?"

"Yes," he noticed that Xenia was fighting back a smile, probably from how taken aback he looked. He knew that she would not ask the stupid question "Are you glad?" – she wouldn't need to, since she could sense all his feelings – bewilderment, joy, fright, and whatever else – without the unnecessary inquiries.

"We will be parents?" he repeated, just to ask something while this impressive news was settling inside him.

She nodded, letting herself smile and hug him, threading his mussed hair through her fingers. He could have prattled, jumped up and danced jig on the table, or crawled into the darkest corner of the house, terrified. Yet, the familiar feel of her arms against his neck did not let him go panicky or wild. And he knew that everything would be all right.

His stomach growled, and Xenia laughed, pulling back. James frowned, suddenly realizing that nothing had really changed, everything was as before, except that their little world would soon grow to include another human being. It was scary, but James Potter was no coward, right?

"No reason to cancel supper, as far as I am concerned," he grumbled, catching Xenia in his arms and heading for the kitchen.


	2. Prologue - Chapter 2 - Lily Potter

Chapter 2. Lily Potter.

She was awake, but did not feel like opening her eyes. She wished she could fall back asleep so that she wouldn't have to remember last night.

They had a row then. Their first ever. And he left, slamming the door behind him. Walked out into the rain without a cloak.

She didn't want to open her eyes and see the empty space in the bed next to her. In almost a year that they had lived together she could not remember a single morning when she would wake up alone. He was always next to her, that silver devil of hers…

He has been with her for four years. No, even longer. He has been there ever since she started at Hogwarts. He and her beloved older brother were so tight that it vexed, even infuriated her.

James Potter and Scorpius Malfoy. She blamed him for stealing Jim from her… She despised him and yet, her eyes lingered on him more and more as the years passed. He was not how a Slytherin should be, especially a Malfoy. He was like her brother whom she adored.

A cold, arrogant aristocrat. He had never paid her any heed – a small, scrawny girl and a ginger, to boot. Would he have noticed her if not for the tragedy of that September? Her mother killed; Father in the hospital, the rest of them – both the Potters and the Weasleys – in mortal danger. And Scorpius was right there, ready to do anything for James. If none of that happened, Malfoy would probably never notice her.

Yet, he was there for her – ever since that September. And he has never left – like this, slamming the door, without explaining. She felt empty and sick at heart, but she did not feel like crying. She shed all her tears last night, angrily punching the pillow…

How did it all start? Oh, right, with his latest carousal with James. Her brother had revealed to his best mate the news about his being offered a spot on the London Quidditch team, and the two of them went out to celebrate…

She waited for him almost all night. He came out of the fireplace, wet, his cloak left behind somewhere, a bottle in his hand. He smelled of someone's perfume… She forced some sobering potion into him, angry and jealous, ready to run to James – to get it out of him where they had been.

Scorpius balked at her interrogation. He brought up that dumb code that stated that Malfoys do not make excuses or explain themselves. He accused her of not trusting him. But she wanted to trust him, she did – if only he would say those few words, to reassure her, to put her on an even keel. Yet, he merely smiled coldly and left, slamming the door behind him…

Why was it so important for her – to hear that it had all been a misunderstanding? Because even after all this time she had trouble believing that a man like him – perfect, strong, remarkable silver-eyed devil – could truly love someone like her… And although he frequently spoke of his love for her, she was always fearful that her fairytale, her silver bliss was but a brief illusion…

Sunlight of the August morning peeked between her eyelids. A lonely and bitter morning. The ray of sunshine seemed to be forcing her to part them, but she turned away. And froze, because the coniferous fragrance attacked her senses. Where was it coming from?

Her eyes flew open and she sat up in astonishment at the sight of silver-trimmed fir branches on her nightstand. They smelled of the forest and of something else that was familiar, warm, and intimate. It was a bit of their secret world – the silver forest that Scorpius once conjured in the Room of Requirement. He created it for her. It was the world of warm snow and low gray sky that was almost touching the tops of fir trees. The world of fire and love; their love.

Her lips stretched into a smile of their own accord; her hand reached out to touch this piece of the fairytale, her fairytale, but she froze when she saw a strange foreign object amongst spines and gray down, hanging off one of the branches.

A ring.

She couldn't believe her eyes as she carefully removed the ring from the branch and stared at it, confused. They have been together for four years, two of which they spent apart, what with her studies at Hogwarts and his – at the Numerology and Economics Academy in Germany. Yet, they never talked of this… She was afraid to even think about it. Because… Because she sometimes had trouble believing it was real…

She heard footsteps in the other room. The only people who could be in their small apartment were James (to whom they had given an extra set of keys and the protective charms password, just in case) and Malfoy himself.

But Scorpius was gone!

She pushed back the covers and stood up, adjusting the oversized sweater that she never bothered to take off last night – it seemed cozier that way. She cautiously opened the door and froze: the room was filled with fir branches and silver down, the air saturated with the smell of conifer. And over the fireplace a white sheet spelled in green, gray and orange: "Lily Potter, will you be Lily Malfoy?". She was afraid to move, her eyes glued to the banner.

She couldn't believe this was real, but this was her Scor in a nutshell; he constantly dished out stuff like this. When she remained at Hogwarts after his graduation, he would show up in her bedroom without warning, shaking off spiderwebs and dust from the secret passages. He turned Hogsmead upside down should she be even a minute late for their date. He sent her a giant kitten as a parting gift when he went to Germany. He shirked school only to come see her and to make the year apart less painful. Those two years were difficult, yet most bright and merry. And the year of their living together was also full of such surprises.

Well, no, not quite like this one… She held the ring in the palm of her hand and stared at the banner, unsure of what to do next.

"Simply put it on. Or toss it out."

She turned around. Scorpius stood, leaning against the door frame, his arms crossed. His hair was immaculate, and he wore the house shirt and slacks. Behind him Lily saw the curious Dong, his house elf, dressed in a kitchen towel and an apron.

Lily looked away and only now noticed a small gift-wrapped box laid in the middle of the room, atop the fir branches.

"This is for you," Malfoy waved his wand and sent the box right into Lily's hands. She frowned, thinking that this looked awfully like him buttering her up, yet it was so unlike Scorpius…

She automatically opened the box, and nearly dropped it: inside was a pretty vial with eau de toilette that smelled awfully familiar. This was what her beloved smelled of last night. Then…

"Potter and I were picking out a gift for you, and that oaf decided to make a joke by spraying it on me…"

"A joke…" Lily said slowly, raising her eyes to his face. "Why wouldn't you say so?"

"Malfoys do not make excuses."

"And what was it you just did?"

"Well, now I am sober and reacting far more adequately; plus Xenia spent half the night drilling into my head that I should compromise – at least sometimes…" he grinned.

"So, all this," she motioned around the room, "is a compromise?"

"No, we have been planning it for a while, but there was a… snag…" he shrugged his shoulders. "Potter and I made the banner…"

"I never doubted that," she smiled, setting the gift on the side table, and lifting the ring to her eyes. She still remembered how, when she and Scorpius had just begun seeing each other, he and James spent all night painting the first declaration of love she ever received on a piece of cloth they had snatched from Filch's office. The most unusual and wonderful, even though at the time she was still a little doubtful it was genuine, thinking it yet another prank Malfoy's and her brother's, for which they were so justly known in school.

"So, what are you going to do with it?"

"Me? Nothing," she replied. Malfoy frowned, clearly taken aback by the answer. She looked up at him and smiled: "As far as I know, it is you who should do something… Put it on my finger, for instance…"

A wide, happy smile spread over his pale face. Lily took a step closer, but immediately jumped and cried out.

"What?" Malfoy rushed forward, catching her. "What is it?!"

"I pricked my foot," she moaned, feeling Scorpius lifting her up. He glanced at her bare feet and hemmed:

"This is the scenario I didn't quite foresee…"

"And I also dropped the ring," Lily hid her face in his neck, ashamed to look at him.

"A big deal, indeed," Scorpius chortled, sitting her down on the couch and taking out his wand. A moment later he held the ring in his hand. "So, will you be Lily Malfoy?"

The girl nodded, watching him put the ring on her finger.

"Well, why are you just sitting there?"

"What do you mean?"

"Just that. Let's go straight to the Ministry. They will marry us right away…"

"Scor, but… I am not even dressed… And what about our parents? Wedding arrangements, a white dress?"

"We can pick up a dress on the way, and you can put it on. As to the parents, we'll tell them later," Malfoy smirked, lifting her in his arms once again.

"But…"

"Lily, I do not want any loud parties, newspaper articles, etc. … I am sick of it," he said, heading for the door.

"And what about witnesses?"

He smiled, kissing her freckled nose:

"We'll get your brother and Xenia…"

"But Daddy…" Lily looked pleadingly at her fiancé, refusing to accept that her father would not be present at her wedding. A long time ago she used to imagine a beautiful park, decorated with bows and flowers; her mum crying happy tears; her father, smiling proudly, leading her in all her bridal glory down the aisle toward the arch where a handsome boy was waiting for her. She imagined a big celebration, a huge wedding cake, mounds of gifts, toasts, kisses…

"Fine, I suppose we can take your father along too," Scorpius smiled at her (this smile took Lily many months of efforts – Malfoy simply did not know what a normal smile was), looking her straight in the eye. He must know how important it was for her to have Harry Potter stand next to her in a moment like this. Not because she was afraid, but because of how important and special her father always was for her, and even more so after her mother's death. "And, I take it, that little brother of yours, and Hermione…"

"You are the best in the world, do you know that?"

He hemmed, as if he heard it every day, and walked out the door, to Apparate to James and Xenia's house.

Lily shook her head in disbelief, fighting back a happy smile. Just to think, mere fifteen minutes ago she woke up, feeling like the most miserable girl in the world…


	3. Prologue - Chapter 3 - Rose Weasley

Chapter 3. Rose Weasley.

_You are an angel trapped in pitch-dark midnight._

_I can't forget or hide away or flee._

_And I don't know what my life will be,_

_If suddenly your dark dissolves in sunlight…_

_You are an angel, by the dark confined._

_And I shall not attempt to break the chains:_

_But wind myself around the harsh restraints_

_So you can't tell who it is that they bind…_

_Yes, you are dark, but I am all aflame,_

_I need no glamor and no glitz galore._

_There was a reason for our true rapport:_

_Both dawn and midnight dazzle us the same…_

She often recalled the morning that became, for both of them, the beginning of something new and special. That morning after the battle, when the feeling of security was still too new to be taken for granted; when hearts were still pounding with anxiety. The morning when the enemies of Harry Potter had once again been soundly defeated, and friends and family went home to regroup, look around, and see what was left after the battle, and what become of them after it.

For some reason she always thought of that morning as the morning of the Dawn, because she was sat on the windowsill and watched the sun rise from behind the hills, its rays falling on the stern face of Theodic Mancilli.

A healer, a legilement, a talented wizard – none of that was news to her. What was new were the look in his eyes and his arms around her. And his pain, hidden from everyone for years: the years of being a "bastard"; of waiting for his father to return, as his mother had promised; the years after her "betrayal", when she got married, having lost faith in his father coming back. And in all these years of waiting, his father revealed himself only once – in the depths of a Pensieve, on Theo's eleventh birthday.

Pain was something he was used to, a part of him, of his life and of his thoughts. Yet, on that morning that pain was going away because he had learned a lot about his father: of his parents' chance meeting, of the man's drunken stupor, of the woman's inexplicable desire to help, and of the Oblivion that forever put them asunder. He now knew that he was the son of Severus Snape; he had seen his portrait, talked to him. Theo was still feeling the pain, dull and familiar, and he did not want to part with it; yet, part with it he must – because SHE, Rose was with him; because she kissed him for the first time ever…

Because he loved her as she loved him.

No, he did not declare it by screaming her name off the top of the Astronomy Tower; did not write fiery words on the walls; did not give her extravagant gifts. He was simply there, with her, often wordlessly sharing his inner world, heretofore closed off to everyone. They could remain silent for hours, or discuss some trivial potion, and yet, it was the most either of them could have wished for at that moment.

The four years of their relationship have merely strengthened their connection, merely showed how similar they were, and how much they enjoyed finding differences. Discovering a whole new world – not that of reason, but of feelings, unfamiliar, deep, sincere; feelings that defied words.

They have been living together for a year and a half: ever since Theo opened a private clinic upon his departure from Hogwarts. She loved their little house at the end of a quiet street where both wizards and Muggles resided… All in all, she was glad that their tastes and priorities were so in synch…

Nothing grand, nothing flashy, nothing loud…

It became clear to her gradually, from his rare remarks, from his facial expressions.

Still, in many ways he remained an enigma to her, one she so enjoyed figuring out. Fitting keys, breaking codes, finding combinations for the thousand locks that protected his inner world. And every time when she succeeded even a little bit, she was happy as a child, even though she knew immediately that every solved puzzle revealed a dozen new ones. This was what had always been missing in the rational and transparent world of Rose Weasley.

The girl quietly entered the house, gladly breathing in his scent: potions, clean laundry and toasted bread. This reminded her of The Burrow and Grandma Molly.

The large windows in the foyer let in the sunlight of the last days of summer. The door that led to the exam room and Theo's study was ajar. Rose set down her books and notepads, quietly kicked off her shoes, hung up her handbag, and walked over to the door, following his , as silly as it seemed, the smell of potions, alcohol and ink has by now been absorbed by his skin that she often kissed, breathing in his essense.

Rose quietly entered the study, which was also bright, despite the drawn curtains he used in his old habit of separating himself from the world. Cots, screens, a shelf holding his books and records, and his desk, which was always tidy.

Rose tiptoed to him, bent over his notes, his brow furrowed in concentration. She held back her hair, leaned over his back and tenderly touched her lips to his cheekbone, putting her arms around his shoulders. He did not start or flinch: merely covered her left hand with his as his lips twitched, but she knew he was glad to see her. She knew him well now and could tell what he was feeling at the moment by as little as a slightest movement of his eyelashes.

"Tired," he was not asking, but stating, his head still bent over his notes, but his fingers playing with hers, wrapped around him. He seldom asked questions. And he was never given to sentimental outbursts, which did not upset Rose in the least – because that made even more precious to her his splashes of passion, his arms tightening around her, his burning eyes. And it was even more precious because no one but her ever saw him that way…

"Hello," she pressed her cheek to his, snaking her arms around his neck. "Are you hungry?"

He shook his head. Rose smiled slightly – she was now used to their silent conversations, to his curt replies. More often his response was in his body language, hands, lips, a turn of his head.

She drew back, walked around him and sat on the corner of the desk, waiting for him to finish writing. Rose was smiling tenderly, watching, studying him, although she had long had a feeling that she knew him inside out, completely. Every movement, every line. Like he knew her.

"Theo…"

He looked up, and she immediately understood by almost imperceptible to others signs that something had happened. Something that moved him. No, neither tension nor anxiety showed in his face. It's just that he, as always, was vulnerable before her, and she used that because that was what he wanted.

Her eyes fell on an envelope laid neatly next to the stack of patient files. Under his unflinching stare she straightened up and picked up the letter, her nails scratching slightly against the smooth desk surface.

The Ministry seal, a generic name of a low-grade bureaucrat. Rose carefully took the piece of parchment out and scanned it. A moment later the letter fell from her hand as she threw herself at Theo, forcing him to lean back in his char. He pressed her to him, thrusting his hands, smelling of ink and alcohol into her unruly hair.

"Mr. Snape," she whispered, looking straight into his dark, impenetrable eyes. He did not need any more words, she knew. Could words describe the true feelings of a man who had waited for this moment for nearly four years: the moment when he would, finally, after all those years, claim his father, his life-long dream? Only she and she alone knew how eagerly he awaited this document, how he would momentarily hold his breath when picking up the post…

Rose kissed his cool lips with the taste of cinnamon that he put in his tea. A deep kiss that no one ever witnessed, the kiss that was only for them… When he suddenly looked disoriented, when his face lit up, the wrinkle on his forehead smoothed out, when he closed his eyes… Only the two of them, alone… It was their secret. He – like that – was her secret, her enigma, something that she did not want to share with anyone.

"I shall make us something to eat," Rose traced his eyebrows with her finger. He merely shook his head, pulling back and raising one hand with the closed fist. His fingers opened, and on his big palm with a fresh potion burn she saw a small, plain signet ring, with a graceful "S" engraved on it.

He did not pose the question, and she did not reply, because any words would sound off at that moment. Silence spoke for them. Her hand trembled as he put the ring on her slim finger.

"Theo," how she loved to say his name out loud.

And how she loved getting in return his muted:

"Rose."

She smiled, feeling his ring on her hand and the letter "S", so important to him, the son of Severus Snape…


	4. Prologue - Chapter 4 - Xenia Verdi

_**Chapter 4. Xenia Verdi.**_

"And if the Light triumphs, in the fourth spring after the death of the eight-headed serpent, a guest shall enter the world, able to look into eyes, but see souls. And a dead man shall speak, and the guest shall face the choice: to turn to the skies or to be drawn toward the grassy earth. For the sky shall bring happiness and prosperity, while the earth – fulfillment of destiny but loss of self. And by making the choice, the guest shall decide the fate of the Light."

These words, that she learned by heart when she was six years old, had long since determined her path, her life, her destiny. No, it was not resignation; it was her choice. Her life's goal – to fulfill the prophecy, to help the Light, for which she fought so adamantly in other people's souls.

She was named "Xenia" that spring, four years after the death of the Dark Lord. And she could see souls – a unique gift, a gift of healing that she cherished and nurtured, safeguarding it until the very moment when the portrait of Albus Dumbledore made her an offer to spend her last school year at Hogwarts; until the moment when the Sorting Hat gave her the choice: Slytherin or Ravenclaw… Until the moment when she consciously made her choice, ready to come to the rescue of the Light…

And she was not afraid as she prepared to save Harry Potter, whose light was nearly extinguished ; to exchange her gift for the healing of this weary and tormented man, who deserved to find peace. She was not afraid because she had spent almost her entire life waiting to fulfill her destiny, to help, to save…

And she succeeded at it, without losing anything… In fact, she gained much by following her path… Could she have guessed there, on Diagon Alley, at the first glance at the abashed black-haired youth with a famous surname, that none other than he would become her destiny, her bliss that she had never dared to hope for? She had come to England to carry out the prophecy, and that very prophecy, made years before, brought her love.

Because she, the seventeen-year-old healer of souls was a cousin of Scorpius Malfoy. And that youth – James Potter Jr. – turned out to be his best mate, almost a brother. And Harry Potter, for whose sake she had been granted her gift, was Jim's father… All those fates had been linked and intertwined decades before, when the prophecy voiced by Professor Trelawney was first recorded and then separated into two parts, according to the instructions of Albus Dumbledore…

She remembered well the evening when Jim was looking into her eyes frantic with worry, almost in a panic, knowing that she intended to fulfill her destiny, to part with her unique gift for the sake of saving Harry Potter from drowning in his tortured past… She watched him trying to resist, to find another way, torn between her and his father.

Clownish. A tad naïve. Beloved perhaps exactly for that childish recklessness, which she had long lost. Could there be a better exchange: her gift for James Potter's happiness and for her happiness with him? With him as well as with the other, whom James has now given her, four years after their chance meeting at the Diagon Alley, and whom she has begun to feel inside her – a thin thread of faint light was already linking her with the greatest gift that life could have given her…

"James, where are you?" Xenia looked around her, but could not see the black-haired young man among the multitude of customers, shelves and goods at this wizarding supermarket that had opened on Diagon Alley only six months before. "James!"

A familiar hand appeared from behind a nearby shelf, with tiny red socks capping two of the fingers.

"Jim, come on, stop this," Xenia smiled, looking at the "feet" dancing atop the box with self-washing plates. "Enough, we have to go!"

Finally, James' smiling face appeared above the box:

"Like it?"

"Like what?" the girl attempted not to laugh, incapable, as usual, to be cross with him. She seemed to never be cross with him. Ever. "Your behavior? You are like a First Year…"

"Na-ah," James drawled, his eyes on the socks. "Fine, I am taking them…"

"What for, just tell me, what for?" Xenia begged almost defeatedly, drained after the battle she had been waging with James here for the last hour. And when he walked around the shelf and approached her with a full basket in hand, she groaned, digging her nails lightly into his arm: "Have you gone mad? I knew that I shouldn't have told you straight away…"

She really had not planned on giving him her news that evening. She came back from the hospital, a little taken aback and even frightened ever since Healer Smethwick examined her and confirmed the diagnosis Xenia had already made for herself.

A child… A gift… And a responsibility that not everyone can handle. And James? No, she did not doubt him; she was only afraid to "saddle" her husband, to curb his wild young life, without which, she knew, he would die away. Like a caged bird…

But then, at home, she sat, looking at his sleeping face, at the wrinkles that first crossed his brow four years ago, when his mother was killed. He slept, smiling in his dreams, but his face still did not take on the carefree and merry expression he usually wore when awake. He opened his eyes, and she knew then that she could tell him. That she could tell him anything and he would accept it, and support her, and wouldn't get scared… And she told him. And he didn't get scared.

On the other hand, after the past three days of such escapades Xenia was at the end of her rope: James, in his typical manner, digested the news and went on living with his usual playful ingenuousness, despite Xenia's request to keep the news of her pregnancy to themselves for now. At least, at first, so that they would have time to get used to the idea of becoming parents…

"What do you mean 'stop'?" James protested, setting to the floor the basket filled with nappies, rattles, and toys. There was also a miniature broomstick and even a Quaffle.

"Are you mental?" Xenia laughed, as James caught her in his arms and lifted her high, his smile wide and blithe. "Let me go and stop horsing around…"

"Na-ah," James shook his head. "I am allowed to do it now. I allowed to do anything now… People!"

"Stop it," Xenia hushed, trying to hide a happy smile.

"People!" he shouted even louder, gazing into her eyes. "My wife is pregnant! I will be a father!"

The store patrons turned towards them and smiled; children watched them, puzzled.

"Right; definitely should have kept you in the dark," Xenia said decisively, and James immediately set her down. "Tell me, please, why do we need a broomstick? It will be gathering dust in the corner for the next three years… And the nappies?"

"What do you mean 'why'? We need to buy everything ahead of time; to be ready…" James said, resisting her attempts to empty the basket. "What if we forget something?"

"Potter, haven't you been told that babies gestate for nine months?" Xenia asked in her best imitation of Scorpius, glancing at her watch. The Malfoys were waiting for them to go to James' parents' – Albus was going away to school, and Xenia was trying to find a parting present for him, while James was horsing around, gathering baby stuff around the store.

"You see how little time we have left?" James smiled seductively at his wife, hugging her briefly. "We need to make sure we get everything my son could possibly need…"

"Why your son?" Xenia took out a blue babygrow and a matching bonnet. "What if it's a girl…"

"No, Xenie, it is up to me to continue the Potter line… I don't think my father would be very happy if all his grandsons have the surname of Malfoy... It would be… wrong, somehow…"

"And what of Albus?" Xenia was absentmindedly looking through the content of James' basket.

"Oy, I have long since given up on him. To be precise, since he was about five years old and announced that he wanted to be gay…"

"What?" Xenia laughed incredulously.

"Yes, gay. He heard me use the word and made the fateful announcement…" James kissed the top of Xenia's head, his arm still around her. "So, we'll have a son…"

"In eight months, so take all this," she pointed at the basket, "and put it all back, while I am paying for my purchases… Even more reason not to buy anything ahead of time… Lily will kill you if we are late, and Albus will be upset…"

"Everything is always my fault," James grumbled as he shuffled obediently back toward the shelves. In a couple of minutes he returned, holding the red socks, looking stubbornly determined: "I shall buy these anyway…"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Jim," Xenia sighed, "buy them, only quickly…"

"Fine… And then off we go to the fireplace Hall…"

"I thought we'd Apparate…"

"No, you cannot."

"James Potter!" Xenia punched him playfully in the chest. "I am pregnant, not terminally ill. Therefore, if your idea is to wrap me in cotton and pack me in a box for eight months, you can forget all about it…"

"Pregnant women cannot Apparate; I read so," James said stubbornly, pressing her hand to his chest.

"Potter," Xenia was beginning to get cross. "I am a healer myself, so stop giving me medical advice! Apparating is counter-indicated after ten weeks, and I am on my fourth… So, get going to the cash register or I will curse you before Malfoy gets a chance to…"

He sighed heavily, giving up, and Xenia smiled: when she was with him, she was always blissfully happy, even when she was cross…"


	5. Prologue - Chapter 5 - Scorpius Malfoy

_**Chapter 5. Scorpius Malfoy.**_

Newspapers seemed to have ceased to write anything worth reading lately, and it occurred to Scorpius occasionally that the only reason he still bothered to read them was to keep him from focusing on Lily still being in bed or having gone to take a shower. Apparently, the realization that they were now husband and wife did away with the last vestiges of decorum that had still remained in his soul from his school days, when he was obliged to mind millions of rules, two-thirds of which had probably been written by the Potter-Weasley clan.

Of course, he did not mind all of them all of the time… And there were times when she – willingly – crossed the line herself… And he liked it, usually… But not always…

He languidly gazed at the wall before him, remembering the well-lit Slytherin Common Room and, in the middle of it stood a Gryffindor Fifth Year, staring intrepidly into his ice-cold eyes. Was she scared then but masked it well, or was she genuinely unaware that this look in his eyes meant that he was capable of anything at that moment: inflicting pain, exacting revenge? Maybe even killing… She should have run and hid, yet she boldly looked him in the eye, as though knowing something that would save her from the hurricane that could momentarily burst forth from the cold and calculating, dark soul of Scorpius Malfoy.

She must have known – Malfoy realized that in the years they have been together. What was it? He never asked her, not wanting to hear the answer.

Had Lily known about Liana McLaggen, who also had the temerity to look him in the eye, after stating shortly beforehand that he could not be loved? Had the brave Gryffindor known of the long and faceless throng of girls, whom he tormented and used, forcing ever further inside the very glimmer of thought that they might care about him? Had she known about the cold his soul always held as his body touched a girl's body? Did she know what was rankling and gnawing at his guts when she refused to run from the look in his eyes – the eyes of a Slytherin scoundrel?

He was hoping even now that she had not, for his dark past was too vile to mar, even for a moment, the thoughts of his kind, a tad naïve wife, who taught him to see the world in a new light…

But back then, he was still trying to keep her away from him, from his dark side; tried to show her that the man to whom she had said "I love you" existed only in her fantasies, viewed through her eyes in rose-coloured glasses… He was sure that he was but an illusion of hers… But she did not let him do it; she did not let him push away the hand she held out to him… To push away her love…

"You were never a Prince Charming, don't flatter yourself. I saw you, year after year, with all your stupid mannerisms, pranks, and jokes… I always knew that you could be cruel. You were able to create a fairy tale. If you were so horrible, if you didn't have a light inside you, you would not have been able to conjure the silver forest, where the snow is warm. But you created it, because there is a place inside you for this forest…"

She was speaking then, and he stood before her, speechless, feeling that at that very moment his past melted away from his soul; the past which was supposed to push her away: Liana's words were erased from his memory, as were the faces of all those who had crossed his path before her, before Lily…

Shaking his head to push aside the unsavoury thoughts about his wild school years, Scorpius picked up another issue of the newspaper, hoping to find at least a crossword puzzle to occupy him, while still continuing to listen to the footsteps in the bedroom, when they were drowned out by a rap on the window. Malfoy made a face, knowing now that the morning was likely to be on par with the rest of the day and, more out of spite than reluctance to move, waved his wand to make the window swing open and tap the uninvited owl visitor on its impudent beak. It is only his third day of being married (and most people are still unaware of that fact); why… should he worry about receiving post instead of enjoying his honeymoon in peace?!

Yet, even before his marriage to Lily Potter he had known that peace was not a thing to find within that family.

The bird shrieked in dismay, flapping its wings – it had definitely been trained at survival, but what would one expect from a Potter owl? All their pets must be like that, judging, for instance, by the couple of cats that hung around the apartment. Scorpius stepped on them on average thrice a day, unable to tell them from rugs.

The owl flew into the kitchen and sat on the edge of the table, out of Scorpius' reach, knowing enough, apparently, to stay away from him. Malfoy did not feel like messing with the bird, however, and so he merely took the letter from it, hemming in response to its indignant cry:

"I am not Potter to cuddle you; he is the designated hero-saviour or various idiot owls, who are unable to tell a wall from a window," the young man snorted, remembering yet again this morning the distant school day, when James decided to repel off the towel wall to retrieve a half-dead owlet from a ledge.

Scorpius immediately forgot all about the bird before him, opened the envelope and read the letter with a condescending smile on his face. He then set it on the corner of the table and returned to his newspaper.

"What is Gab doing here?"

Scorpius grinned, feeling Lily's soft fingers caress his neck. She put her arms around her and kissed his clean-shaven chin, momentarily pressing her body against his back.

"And good morning to you, too," Malfoy hemmed. "He wants to have breakfast with us. I offered him a bowlful of your cats, but he took offence to it..."

Lily laughed, reaching out and petting the pathetic excuse for a bird:

"What's in the letter?"

"What do you think?" Scorpius set aside his newspaper and chased the owl with the stupidest name he'd every heard off the table. Like the master, like the owl… Only, as far as Malfoy remembered, the owl's name was a practical joke on James, whose owl was also named idiotically, but in reverse – Bag. Scorpius seemed to remember that the little Potter gave that name to his new owl so that James would get all choked up with fraternal affection the night before his birthday…

"Albus is very worried that we will be late to see him off," Lily scanned her little brother's scribbles.

"Well, he has a good reason," Scorpius looked over Lily, still in her robe, and then glanced at the clock. "Although I think that you will get ready several times over before your brother even gets his physiognomy unstuck from the pillow…

"You should not have gotten carried away so in celebrating his birthday," Lily commented, heading for the bedroom.

"Tell him that; I had nothing to do with it," Malfoy smirked, amazed for the umpteenth time at Potter's bad luck of being born on August thirty-first. If only he waited one more day, Hogwarts Express would be a party ride… "Take a look at the fresh newspaper, please," he called out to his wife, too lazy to get up and get it himself.

Lily said something in response, and Scorpius, easy, returned to the crossword puzzle that he finally came across in the previous issue. Actually, he should have kept up with the newspapers, to keep abreast of the events in the wizarding world, but he hardly had any time in the last three weeks. He had been trying to find an obscure Quidditch team to buy and manage, conducted negotiations, traveled all over England, not to mention Potter with his news of "London Lacewings", his birthday, the honeymoon to top it off…

In short, no time for newspapers. Today would be another day he wouldn't be able to read a newspaper – Albus Severus Potter was leaving for the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and ordered everyone to be come to his home, and to later escort him to the Platform 9¾ in style. The only upside of this event was the chance to enjoy watching the meeting of James and Albus, fond as they had always been of each other. Plus, it has been a while since he had last had the pleasure of seeing the former prefect Weasley… In other words, one could always make something good of a bad situation…

He suddenly heard a sharp knock on the door and, no more than five seconds later, the lock clicked, and Potter practically fell into the flat, apparently thinking nothing of crashing their abode without a warning simply because he knew the password.

"Hello, Jim; Hello, Xenia," Lily called out, and Scorpius decided to grace the visitors with his presence after all.

"Potter, one day you are going to come in just like this and see precisely that for which you punched me in our seventh year," Malfoy drawled, shaking his friend's hand and grinning in a very James-like manner. Well, after all they have been through, they couldn't help grin when they saw each other. He then winked at Xenia, whose smile was too joyous (for Potter's wife), and shifted his gaze to Lily who seemed too pale (for his wife). "Lil, are you all right?"

"Yes, quite," she answered a little tersely, rolling up the newspaper. "I shall get dressed; just give me two minutes," and she hurried to the bedroom, in an obvious attempt to evade Scorpius' interrogation, who considered Potters' attempts at fibbing a most entertaining act. Lily waved and disappeared.

"Something to look into," Malfoy thought in passing, before his friend distracted him.

"Well," Potter hemmed, plopping onto the couch, "We have a half hour then to grab a bite."

"Xenia, have you put him on a diet?" Malfoy chortled, stretching.

"No, she dragged me me shopping with her, and it was exhausting," Potter replied at once, smiling cunningly at his wife. Xenia rolled her eyes, and headed after Lily, apparently, for some girl talk.

Really, what else could they be talking about? About Potter? Doubtful… About him, Malfoy? Flattering, of course, but also doubtful…

"So, what have you got for breakfast?"


	6. Prologue - Chapter 6 - Ron Weasley

**Hello, the new school year! I am grateful to all of you who have continued to take interest in this story, asking me to post the new chapters soon. I am sorry it has taken me so long to do this.**

**I will try to be better in the future. The end of the summer was hectic, vacation included. I love Canada! Niagara Falls are beautiful!**

_**Chapter 6. Ron Weasley.**_

It was as though someone else, not him, was sitting, feeling acutely fatigued and acutely paltry under the vast dark heavens, that had once decided his destiny…

If not the heavens, then who else? Aside from yourself… Yet, could you yourself have taken that terrible step, the first step onto the path of loneliness and disillusionment, where every instant feels like eternity; every emotion – a torment; every memory – a knife cut across the heart?! Could you have voluntarily walked away, away from your home, away from her? From her eyes, that had always invested you with confidence; from her voice that had been whispering the oh so needed words of love and devotion; from yourself, because without her you can never be the same…

Four years. An eternity, yet, an instant. You live, bearing within you the past that is no longer a part of the lives of others. Of her life that was torn asunder, smashed by the merciless heavens. No, not by the havens.

By them.

Ron closed his eyes, his elbows resting wearily on his knees. It was like only yesterday that he was running down that dirty lane off the Diagon Alley, his heart clenching with dread in his chest. The colours, the sounds of that moment were still fresh in his mind.

…That lane, dirty, damp, and dark. And Ginny's red hair, and her blood. And the beasts, killing her without mercy. And the pain – not the physical kind. The kind that makes you want to weep and scream, looking at the dead person whom you loved like yourself…

Ginny. Little Ginny… He had never been so brave in all his life as in that moment – when she was dying. When the enemies of her husband, the great Harry Potter, so easily cut – gnawed through – the thread of her precious life. And he had never been so insensitive to physical pain as he was then…

Sometimes Ron wondered why he didn't die there, in that dark alley, along with her, with Ginny. Why the merciless heavens did not let him follow after his sister. And the answer was always the same: because of her.

Because of Hermione.

…The bedroom in the house at Grimmauld Place, cobwebby and dusty. Damp sheets. And Hermione, putting away her wand and feverishly kissing his bitten lips. Her hands, her eyes, her smell that sometimes made him choke up. His heart, beating out of his chest. And it didn't matter that he was a werewolf, that the full moon was approaching, that he was wanted by the Ministry. Even the knowledge that Ginny was no more seemed distant and irrelevant at that moment. Because it was she, Hermione, that was the center of his universe, as she had been for so long…

He survived and broke out of the Ministry's grasp only because she was next to him. She believed that it would all work out, and he also stupidly believed that. He lived, he fought, suffering and clawing at himself on the inside. All for the sake of the moment when he got to pretend to be her, Hermione. The moment when he got to save her life. So that she would live. So that she would learn to be happy again. So that she would love again. Not him. But love, nevertheless…

The thoughts of Hermione always brought on the memories of Harry. And the old, dragging pain that used to be jealousy, but lost its sharpness and heft over the years. These memories always raked up the dark feelings and thoughts. And so he would go back to thinking about Hermione, because everything about her was clear.

The details faded, but the warmth that now made a chill come over his heart, remained. As though her hand – as only her hand ever could – momentarily touched his unshaven and scratched cheek.

Her hands. Remembering them, he always remembered the foggy autumn evening, when he wandered the streets, cross with Hermione once again over something trifling. He was cold and tired; he felt qualmish because he knew that she was sitting in their kitchen, upset, biting her lips. And, not knowing where his feet were even headed, he came home. She met him with silence. He took a step toward her, and she slapped him – hard, stinging with the cold of her chilled hands – and then buried her face in his fog-soaked shoulder and cried.

Remembering that slap, he remembered his own. He hit her. Out of anger. Out of jealousy. Out of pain. It wasn't even him, but rather the creature he was slowly becoming…

…A dark kitchen, the cold steel of the knife against his hand. Inside him – also steel, alien, cold, sharp. Everything agitated and vexed him: sounds, smells, objects. He wanted to hide in the corner and howl. And there was her – her usual self, with her books and harebrained theories, researching and figuring out something. Her, thinking of Harry, as usual, as always, while he was feeling sick to his stomach. He was not his usual self, he was different, and she should realize it and change, too! She should stop talking about Harry, about what a sad and difficult time it was for the Golden Boy, because for once it was a sad and difficult time for Ron. And he struck her; he lost control with a sort of acrimonious satisfaction of a bullied caged beast who was finally able to break free and punish his tormentors…

And now, nearly four years after all that, after he left the lake shore in the Forest of Dean, leaving her with Harry, having done everything in his power to protect their future from annihilation, to avenge Ginny and his own ruined life, he knew that there wasn't much left of that former Ronald Weasley. Only whatever parts of his soul that he has managed to preserve from being consumed by this new life that had invaded him – first with the werewolf's fangs and his helplessness to prevent it, and then – with the strength, ferocity and uncontrollable fury. And with the wistful eyes of the girl who has forever become his burden and his refuge…

"Ron."

He looked up at the slight figure standing next to him, afraid to touch him. She was always afraid to touch him, as though wary of being hurt, although Ron never even said a cross word to her. Perhaps, because this slim girl with braids – the daughter of his first full moon's victim – reminded him of another girl, from his past life, whom he held in his arms, bathed, read to, and helped to sort out the complexities of life. Who called him Daddy. Who for the past four years has maintained a thin thread between him and his past.

"Ron," – she called him again, as though to remind him that she was not Rose.

"Yes, Bertie," he did not stand up, so as not to loom over her.

"Mummy is feeling sick again," the trembling hand touched his shoulder hesitantly, seeking comfort.

Ron rose slowly to his feet, knowing that he had to move and act, picked up Bertie, and strode toward the cottage where the sounds of the piano have long ceased and the light in the window grew dull and uneasy… Like the light of his current life.


	7. Prologue - Chapter 7 - Albus Potter

**As you might have noticed, I changed the title of the story. The idea remained the same. The reason for the change was the poem in the beginning, from which the title follows. It has been driving me mad and wouldn't work for a long time, but I finally came up with a more satisfactory (although far from perfect) translation of the poem, and with it came the refined title.**

**I also changed the original story's title from "The Web" to "Spider Web", since in the Sphynx's original the original story, the sequel, which I am translating now, and the prequel all start with the same letter. Just trying to be precise... Enjoy!**

_**Chapter 7. Albus Potter.**_

The train arrived at the station in full darkness. The corridors were clamorous as students hurried to get outside, into the carriages and on – to the feast. He could hear rattling of carts and cages, loud mewing of a cat.

"Well, here I am," he winked at his reflection in the mirror, then stood up, picked up his rat from the seat, and left the compartment, smiling.

After all, how could he help smiling, when that morning he, along with his entire big family ate cake, which he stuck with many lemon candles; then Dad led him onto the secret platform, as he, instead of riding on top of the baggage cart pushed it himself, clad in the school uniform, with his own new wand safe in his pocket.

Scorpius shook his hand and wished to avoid falling into a hidden tunnel; James asked to say hello to Mr. Filch (and hardly grumbled at all); Lily instructed him in finding The Room of Requirement; and Dad and Hermione assured that they would miss him dreadfully. Pity that Hugo wasn't there – he had left for the Astronomy Academy, somewhere far, far away, from whence post was brought by bright birds with crests. Theo didn't show up either, but Albus wrote him a letter, and Rose promised to deliver it. Grandpa Arthur brought him candy and a present from Uncles Weasley: disposable invisibility cloaks and a bunch of joke toys from their shop, which made Albus' father chuckle and James – nod appreciatively.

And now he is almost at Hogwarts, his dream of many a year. How could it not have been, if two of the school headmasters were most remarkable wizards, after whom his Mum and Dad named him? Who have been coming to him in his dreams to teach him, reminisce about the past battles, or just eat some candy together, which he liked a great deal… The adults told him often enough about the Name Magic, but Albus couldn't care less for why they visited him in his sleep… He simply loved them dearly – his Gramps Albus and Uncle Severus. Them and everything linked to them. And Hogwarts was very tightly linked to them, indeed…

"Firs' years! Follow me! Quickly!"

A group of slightly frightened children began to assemble around Hagrid, staring up at the giant man in awe. Albus ducked behind the others' backs, as though playing hide-and-seek, and Hagrid didn't let on. They followed down the path, and soon saw Hogwarts. Albus had seen it before and even lived there for a time, and so he did not ooh and aah over it, like others.

"Hagrid, I can't swim," pipped a little girl with a long braid, when they came to the lake and saw the boats.

"Sit with me," Albus offered, smiling and reaching his hand to the girl, to help her into the boat. Well, his brother always said that one had to be chivalrous with girls. Especially since Albus knew how to swim and was not afraid of the giant squid, whom he had even befriended a little.

"I am Bertie," the girl pulled the hem of her skirt over her knees and watched, a little warily, as the boat approached the tall cliff atop which stood Hogwarts.

"I am Al. Do you like candy?"

"Yes."

He took a handful of assorted drops out of his pocket and handed them to her. The boat rocked, almost causing Al to fall overboard, and Bertie cried out.

"You know how to swim, don't you?"

Al smiled, unwrapping a piece of candy:

"My brother says that my kind does not sink…"

"Meaning?"

"Not sure. That's where Dad would always smack him on the head," Al laughed, picking up the spilled candy from the floor.

"And I play the piano," Bertie was busy with her candy and not as afraid of water anymore. Al chalked it down as the benefits of the drops.

"Will you play for me?"

"Sure. And do you play an instrument?"

"James says that my instrument is nerves," Al shrugged his shoulders, smiling again.

"How is that?"

"Dunno; this is where Lily, our sister throws something heavy at James…"

"Oh, that pour James…"

"No, he is rich! He signed the contract, and now he gets to play Quidditch for a major team."

"Which one?"

"I don't know; he never tells me… He thinks that I don't get how great a player he is… But I do. He is very nice, when he doesn't grumble… Xenia says that it is his way to hide how much he loves me…"

"Xenia?"

"Yes, my brother's wife; she is great," Al looked up, in time to see the boat enter a low-ceiling grotto. The boat bumped the shallow sandy bottom, and Hagrid ordered everyone to walk toward the entrance to the school.

They were met by a tall wizard in dark embroidered robes. He looked over the first years. Albus recognized him, but did not let on.

"I am Professor Faust, the Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts. We shall now enter the Great Hall, where you will be sorted into Houses…

"My Mum was a Gryffindor," Bertie whispered while the professor talked about the House Cup.

"And mine…" Al grew a little sad, and the girl felt uncomfortable.

"Did I say something wrong?"

"No. You know, my entire family, with a couple of exceptions, were Gryffindors."

"You think you will be sorted there?"

Al shrugged his shoulders: he didn't really know himself yet whether he wanted to be a Gryffindor. After all, there was his Gramps Albus, but also Uncle Severus… There was Dad, but also Xenia.

They were led down several corridors before finding themselves in a huge hall. As they were walking toward the teachers' table, Al counted over a hundred trays with sweets. The boy hoped that by the time they were sorted, there would be some candy left.

"When I call out your name, you come forward, sit on the tabouret, and put on the hat. It will tell you at which House's table you should sit," Faust curtly informed the students, while Al smiled, adjusting his glasses: there was something familiar about this professor; something about him reminded him of Uncle Severus. Still, he couldn't possibly be related to Uncle Severus, whose only living relative, Theo, was a healer and lived in a cottage with Rose. Al liked visiting their garden and chasing gnomes. And he also liked watching Theo mix potions, and Al even got to help Theo mix them, with the latter's permission.

"The Headmistress is staring at you," Bertie whispered to Al. Albus looked up and smiled widely at the familiar elderly witch, who had once helped his Dad. James didn't like her very much, but Hermione was very fond of her. And so did Gramps Albus. "Does she know you?"

"Yes, we were once walking in the woods together," Al vaguely remembered that walk, mainly his fear and a big dog, but he knew that the Hogwarts Headmistress was there.

Bertie's eyes grew wide, but she didn't say anything.

"Nilsen, Alberta."

"Oh!" Bertie jumped nervously and almost fell, causing several students to chuckle. Al frowned and was about to turn toward them and say that it wasn't polite, but Bertie had already sat on the tabouret, and The Hat almost immediately cried: "Ravenclaw!"

Bertie smiled, waved at Al, and hurried toward the table, where sat boys and girls with blue stripes and bird embroidered on their robes. At the table was also the Ghost of Gray Lady, whom Marie-Victoire performed on the stage. When Sirius, her and Lupin's son cries, Teddy tells him about Marie-Victoire walks and dances around the stage. Teddy even sometimes shows it to Sirius and Al, and they laugh. But Sirius is still very little and doesn't understand; he is just amused by Teddy waving his hands and wrapping himself in a blanket….

"Potter, Albus!"

It turned out that he had missed his name being called the first time, and the Great Hall grew quiet. The teachers half-rose from their chairs; the students were whispering to one another. Maybe they are thinking that he will be like James? No, he will be better…

The boy smiled at the curious faces and sat down on the tabouret, putting the hat carefully and neatly into his head. Amanda Dursley waved at him; she was his Dad's niece (she had said that her dad, a Muggle, still couldn't believe that "he had been thus punished"), and often stayed at their house. He waved back.

"Hello."

"Oh, you are a brave one. Well, hello, the yet another Potter. Although… you probably should not be called just 'another'."

"Do you like candy?"

"No, dear, I like poems."

"Hmm, are they tasty?"

"Try it, and you'll find out. Will you let me think?"

"Oh, I am sorry, I didn't mean to be disruptive. It's just that Gramps Albus has said such interesting things about you."

"Dumbledore? Albus Dumbledore?"

"Gramps Albus, who has the same glasses as me. He likes lemon drops."

"And I'll bet, so do you."

Of course! Daddy says that…!"

"Listen, keep quiet, or we shall talk until the exams."

"Sorry."

Al tried to sit still, so as not to disturb the hat, but it continued to stall, while everyone was staring at them in slight confusion.

"Where would you like to be Sorted, Albus?" the Hat finally asked.

"I don't know. Uncle Severus was a Slytherin, and that's cool. And Xenia was one, and so was Scorpius. And Marie-Victoire was a Ravenclaw. And Dad and Lily were Gryffindors. And I think Uncle Severus would say I belong in Hufflepuff."

"SO, WHERE WOULD YOU LIKE TO BE?"

"Can't you decide that yourself?"

"No! For the first time ever I cannot make a decision because you are equally suited for any House. So it is up to you!"

"May I think about it?"

The hat huffed indignantly and almost flew off the boy's head.

"So, Potter, you are going to…" the hat began, waiting for Al's decision.

"But it's not fair! I cannot decide for myself; Gramps always said it was your job!"

The entire Hall burst into laughter; professors were conferring in whispers; Professor Faust frowned as he exchanged glances with the Headmistress.

"Then go to the…"

"Gryffindor!" Albus finally ventured, smiling. The hat sighed in relief. "As are Dad and Mum, and Uncle George, and Uncle Charlie, and Rose, and Lily…"

"Gryffindor," Faust nudged Al as he relieved him of the Hat, which seemed more ancient, worn and frayed than ever.

Albus set his half-moon glasses straighter on his nose, and headed to his table, where he was greeted warmly by other Gryffindors.


	8. Prologue - Chapter 8 - Single Combat

**Okay, kisses and flowers are nearly over, and Her Majesty Life is entering the stage...**

_**Chapter 8. Single Combat.**_

James stood in the middle of the living room with a grin that even Malfoy would appreciate, looking on as his father picked up Hermione's suitcase and his own duffel bag.

"I always knew that you just couldn't wait to get rid of Albus and take off…"

Harry smiled warmly at his son, and glanced toward where Hermione and Rose had gone upstairs a minute ago.

"I told you a thousand times: I am on vacation, and since Hermione has this business trip, I decided to keep her company. It gets boring being alone in the mountains…"

"Right, right," James agreed readily, watching Hermione and Rose descend into the living room, laughing. "I'll tell Albus that."

"Albus knows," Rose hemmed, standing next to her cousin. "He asked to bring him some foreign sweets…"

"Right, just so he finally has his insides stick together. Fine, off you go, bon voyage," James shook his father's hand, gave Hermione a quick hug, and headed for the kitchen, as usual, ravenous after a practice. Since he happened to drop by at dinnertime, anyway…

"Jim!"

"Yes, yes, I shall lock the door, won't demolish your stash of Firewhiskey, and even occasionally water the plants…" James was already in the kitchen, muttering under his breath as he took a cup from the cupboard.

"I'll be much obliged, except we don't have any plants," said Malfoy from the doorway, looking mockingly at his friend. "Moonlighting as a housekeeper?"

"Very funny," James chortled, sitting down at the table. "What are you doing here?"

"Your favourite cousin let me in, after assisting your parents in swift and quiet getaway," Scorpius pulled up a stool and settled comfortably on it, his arms crossed, watching Potter sweep the sandwiches off his plate.

"And how did you know I was here?" James took a colossal bite, and Malfoy wondered how was it that food did not get stuck in that marvel's throat. Although, after all those years of practice…

"From Xenia," Scorpius shrugged his shoulders, watching Rose enter the kitchen. "How are the former Gryffindor Headgirls doing?"

"Hold your wit, Malfoy," the girl asked, pouring herself juice. "Can I offer you anything?"

"Wow, at least your cousin, Potter, has good manners," Scorpius remarked with a grin. "No, thank you," he replied to Rose with the most pleasant smile he could manage.

"Where did you see Xenia?" James, as usual, ignored Malfoy's remark.

"At our place, when she and Lily were getting ready to go shopping at the Diagon Alley."

"Shopping for what?" Potter perked up.

"For the usual stuff, Jim," Rose said calmly, with a slight smile. "Lily wanted new autumn robes; she had told me so."

"They will meet us at the café at two," Scorpius smirked, watching his friend, whose appetite seemed to only expand with each bite.

James shrugged his shoulders and decided that since his wife had gone shopping, he had the right to eat another couple of sandwiches. He reached for the bread, and only then saw a smudge of soil on Scorpius' cuff.

"Are you moonlighting as a ditch-digger?"

Malfoy hemmed and looked down at his sleeve.

"I shall kill Dong," he said calmly, taking out his wand. "This dolt got carried away shoveling, and showered me with dirt…"

"I hope you did not tie his ears over his…?"

"James!" Rose exclaimed indignantly, looking at the chaps in dismay. "This is terrible!"

"No, Lily forbid me to punish him corporally…" Malfoy smiled wryly.

"Discipline, Malfoy-style? What item in your family code is it?" as Malfoy derisively raised one eyebrow, James decided to steer the conversation back to the house elf: "So what was our Dong doing? Laying out a flower patch in your bathroom?" Potter sliced off a slab of bacon.

"Ha-ha," Scorpius said distinctly, glancing sideways at Rose. "It is actually a secret."

"I can leave," Rose remarked astutely, catching Malfoy's eye. "Although Lily actually has an idea…"

Scorpius nearly fell of the chair in surprise, and Rose laughed.

"How?"

"Well, your house elf is quite good at finding loopholes in your orders, and he has let a couple of things slip," the girl could divulge this with a clear conscience, knowing that Dong was not in any physical danger. "She knows that you are building the two of you a house, somewhere… And that your elf is overseeing the construction, and also laying out the garden around it…"

"That's it, Dong is a corpse; I won't even lay a hand on him – he will drown himself," Malfoy promised, his eyes flashing icily.

"And where are you building the house, play tell?" James even forgot about his sandwich. "Or the palace, or the castle…"

Scorpius frowned:

"At the Malfoy Manor, where else?"

"Why do you need another house?" Rose inquired.

"I was of a better opinion of the Hogwarts prefects' mental faculties," Malfoy chortled. "Just use your imagination and picture my father at the same dinner table with my wife… Get it now? I do not wish to accidentally find myself a half-orphan or a widower… Besides, a house can have only one master…"

"And you cannot settle for anything less than the master, can you?" James added. "By the way, does your father dearest know that he is now related to us?"

"No, I haven't yet had a chance to book him a private room at St. Mungo's… I even thought about Zabini…"

Potter choked.

"What?!"

"Well, she was always so good at giving my father unpleasant news," Scorpius smirked. "And now I don't know how to do without her…"

"Be careful what you wish for, Malfoy, for you might get it…" Rose set down her glass and looked at the two chaps.

"Meaning?"

"Don't you read newspapers? Shame on you," Rose got up, walked to the living room and returned a moment later with the fresh issue of "The Prophet".

Malfoy tensed, remembering Lily's odd pallor and her lie, which he had dismissed in his relaxed state.

"Third page," Rose watched the chaps hurriedly leaf through the pages.

"Wow," James eyes even bulge. "'The patron couple succeeded in the release of their sick daughter'. Sick, indeed…"

They looked at the moving picture of Priscilla Zabini, who had been convicted for "boundless trust in her elder brother that led her to assist a gang of werewolves in kidnapping a Hogwarts student", according to the article. Malfoy chortled, and his eyes flashed dangerously.

Scorpius quietly opened the door. The elves had already cleaned up all traces of first medical aid, like cut-up clothing, bloody bandages, towels.

In the gloom of the pristine room, on the white bed lay a pale red-head little girl. This was the impression Lily Potter made, covered up to her chest with the blanket, her bandaged arms laid carefully by her sides. Bandages that almost reached her shoulders.

They will answer for this. Every one of them.

For every tear. For every drop of blood.

He watched her drift off to sleep, not thinking yet of what he would do and how – life will show him the way.

They had dared to make their lair at his mansion… They had dared to draw him into their games by kidnapping the person he cared for the most… They had caused her pain… They would pay for it all.

He didn't expect to learn so easily the whereabouts of the two people he wanted, those who had initiated the kidnapping…

"Dong!" he called upon returning to his bedroom.

The house elf appeared at once, wiping his hands on the towel. His nose was smeared with flour.

"What are you doing?"

"Baking rissoles for your friend," Dong muttered, his breath catching in his chest, and his ears pressing into his head. "She is so slim… I thought that…"

"Don't," Malfoy asked, smirking. "Take this off; I have work for you. The grounds, the cage, the familiar werewolf mugs… Got it?"

The elf nodded quickly, staring devotedly at the young master.

"Not a word to anyone. Let the winterizing charms go off, but at full power, and only at that spot."

Dong nodded again, and his eyes blinked.

"Well, why are you standing there? Report to me after you are done."

The elf vanished, and Scorpius stood by the window, watching the Aurors bustle about the front lawn. Let them think what they will. Let them do what they will. He is a Malfoy and this is his home. Werewolves were not welcome here…

After mere five minutes, the house elf was back before Scorpius. They both knew that in the limited space of the cage, the winterizing charms would flare up terribly… However, that was what Scorpius had wanted in the first place.

"Fine, now on to Hogwarts…"

Thanks to the Minister of Magic, he knew precisely where to find Priscilla and Fritz Zabini, brother and sister, his childhood pals, the Slytherin blue-bloods, who had dared to touch Lily Potter. It is vile to attack a defenseless and, basically, innocent person. The person who was now one of the most dear to his heart… He would not forgive that…

They were frightened when they saw Malfoy materialize before them. He had not even taken out his wand, and they were already frightened. Priscilla, of course, made a brave face. Under different circumstances, he might feel sorry for her. He took his time taking his wand out of his pocket, feeling Dong's presence behind him.

"Malfoy…" Fritz found the courage to speak. "You…"

"Don't bother," Priscilla let drop to her brother, jerking her chin up defiantly. Cold, proud, cruel girl, whom his parents had expected him to marry. "It is just like a Malfoy – to attack those who are unarmed…"

He didn't bother responding. Zabini's words did not irk him, because they were the truth. Not the whole truth. Still, it was none of their business.

Scorpius did it easily; he didn't feel like turning away or putting a stop to it or covering his ears. He didn't feel discomfort from the suffering of the two teenagers – only peace spreading throughout him; only the certainty that he had done everything right...

"Led her…" Malfoy muttered, chasing away the memories of the verdict and the punishment that he had set for Priscilla even before she was sent to Azkaban…

"Mr. And Mrs. Zabini have been generously donating assistance to the St. Mungo's hospital and the Azkaban prison, helping greatly to improve the conditions for patients and inmates… Last Wednesday, during a closed council of healers, insisted upon by Mr. And Mrs. Zabini, their daughter Priscilla, twenty-one, was diagnosed with total dementation due to the shock of her brother's betrayal and her incarceration in Azkaban. The healers claim that during brief bouts of sentience the girl deeply regretted her past actions… The decision was made to parole the disabled Priscilla and to keep her under house arrest for five years. She would be cared for at home by her parents and her beloved younger brother… There is hardly any chance of her recovery…"

Flabbergusted silence filled the kitchen.

"And you believe this?" James finally asked, looking at his friend.

"Do I look like a kindly hamster?" Scorpius said through his teeth, still staring down at the article. "Where did they find these healers?"

"Theo says that the Zabinis were practically worshiped at St. Mungo's; because of their money much good has been done for the patients," Rose remarked gravely.

"Yes, Xenia did mention it once," James scratched the back of his head. "It's the Zabinis, then…"

"Rumours about her illness have been going around," Malfoy confirmed, rubbing his chin and pensively looking out the window. "Of course, the Zabinis themselves could be behind them… And she didn't tell me…"

"What's that?"

"Lily didn't tell me about this. And I am certain that she saw it."

"She must have wanted to spare you the worry," Rose shrugged her shoulders, "after all, you had only just gotten married…"

Malfoy eyed the girl arrogantly:

"And how are the two in conflict?"

They were silent for a moment, and then Malfoy rose to his feet:

"Let's go, Potter."

"What's up?" James got up, leaving his unfinished sandwich.

Malfoy did not reply.

"Let's go," Potter nodded and handed Rose the house keys. "Lock up when you leave, will you?"

She nodded slowly, looking by turns at the departing chaps and at the newspaper that lay open on the table, with Priscilla Zabini smiling a marble-cold smile from the page.


	9. Part 1 - Chapter 1 - Lily Potter

_**Chapter 1. Lily Potter.**_

"I like it," Xenia smiled, looking at the cloak that Lily has finally picked out. They had been to three stores and couldn't find anything.

"Don't you think that it would look better on my father?" Lily looked down at the cloak she was holding. "Goes with his eye colour…"

"No, I don't think he would wear a woman's cloak," Xenia laughed.

Lily also laughed, enjoying the contentment she had been feeling, for the past few years and, especially in the last few days. She became Mrs. Scorpius Malfoy: it scared her and, at the same time, made her almost out-of-her-mind happy.

"All right, then I am off to the fitting room," Lily waved at Xenia, noting to herself that her friend seemed too pale today, and disappeared behind the curtain to try on the cloak. She turned this way and that in front of the mirror, imagining how irritated Malfoy would have gotten had he gone shopping with his wife. Men in general hated shopping, James especially so, and it was very lucky that Xenia was available this morning.

"Done, I am taking it," Lily walked out of the fitting room and headed for the cash register, where the wizard stood, chatting with a customer.

"We don't have to hurry, I think: it is twenty minutes to two," Xenia glanced at the clock. "James was going to drop by your parents; they are leaving today…"

"Yes," Lily put on her new cloak, because it was quite chilly for September in London. "I stopped by this morning to say goodbye. It will be good for Dad to get a break, especially from Jim and Al…"

They laughed.

"Ouch!" Lily thrust her hand in her pocket.

"What?"

"My wand… I think I lost it…"

"It's impossible, _accio wand_," Xenia also looked scared and paled even more. When the spell did not work, she searched all her pockets and her handbag. "Could you have dropped it when you were changing?"

Lily shrugged her shoulders:

"I think I'd better go back… Maybe you should go meet Jim and Scor, while I…"

"No, we have enough time; let's go together," Xenia gradually got her colour back, and Lily thought that her sister-in-law seemed odd today.

As they hurried back to the "Magic of Fashion" where Lily had tried on the cloak, Lily felt uneasy. How could she have dropped her wand? When? It was so strange. Besides, she couldn't shake the sensation of being watched. She turned a few times, but didn't see anyone.

"What is it?" Xenia looked at her friend, wrapping her warm shawl tighter around her.

"Nothing; it's just that Malfoy's paranoia is contagious," Lily tried to joke it off, in a genuine attempt at explaining her anxiety away with the suspiciousness which often vexed her about her husband.

They entered the store and headed for the fitting room where Lily had just used.

"Ladies, a young man was just here," the salesman approached them, smiling pleasantly. "He said that you had forgotten something in the fitting room. He asked to give this to you…" the man took a thick package out of the pocket of his uniform robes. "I guess, I should take a look…"

"No, I know what it is," Lily practically tore the package out of the clerk's hands, embarrassed that he should see her wand. How stupid would she look! "Thank you…"

"Better check first; what if it is not yours," Xenia said quietly, as they turned away from the man who was eyeing them curiously.

"And then what?" still, Lily began to unwrap the package carefully: better be safe than sorry. When the tip of her wand appeared, she breathed a sigh of relief: "It's fine; as I told you before – paranoia…" the girl's fingers closed around the wand, just as Xenia grabbed her wrist:

"Stop!"

But Lily had already touched the warm wood, which flashed blue, and she felt as though she was being pulled by her navel. She felt Xenia grip her hand, probably not wanting to abandon Lily.

A moment passed, or maybe an eternity. She shook her head, trying to understand what had happened when her wand flew out of her hand and fell to the floor a few paces away, hitting a stone surface.

At first, it was dark and quiet, and then they heard a voice that sounded odd, as though muted or altered:

"Welcome."

"Who are you?"

Lily started, remembering that she was here with Xenia, who was still holding her hand.

"Hmm, That is my line," a cold smirk was easily detectable in the voice that occasionally seemed familiar to Lily. "Although I would venture and easy guess: Xenia Potter, a sister of mercy and all that… It is getting even more interesting…"

"What do you want? Where are we?" Lily tried to make out something, anything in pitch darkness. It appeared that the man could see them, which indicated that he had something like the Hand of Glory that he father had told her about. The Hand that once belonged to the Malfoys…

In response somone's fingers gripped her thighs and pushed her to the right. She automatically took a few steps, guessing that it was a house elf, and immediately heard a strange grating noise, metallic clang, and the turning the lock.

"Xenia!" Lily dashed forward and collided painfully with the closed bars. They she heard the popping sound usually following someone Apparating, and then she was surrounded by complete darkness of a damp and humid dungeon.

The main thing – not to panic. She slowly began to feel her way around the perimeter of the tiny cell where she was confined. There were no windows or air-holes. Only a stone bed by the far wall, onto which the girl sank, thinking with a bitter smirk that she did well to have bought her warm cloak – she would need it here.

It's tough when you step on the same rake twice, especially when you are forced to do so. Because, having done so once, you already know how it may end. It hasn't happened yet, but you are already scared, and a glob of terror rolls up your throat, because you cannot do anything to change or fix the situation. Or rather, they won't let you.

She had never been to Hogwarts' dungeons that James and Scorpius told her about, and she had never been to the dungeons at Malfoy Manor that her husband and her family told her about. Yet, now, feeling the low stone ceiling overhead, and the uneven floor, with dark rough bars growing out of it, she was certain that this was what the dungeons of the old mansions and castled were like. An empty small room, full of stone and dampness, a stone bed, and creepy shadows that suddenly seem to appear in complete darkness.

Lily tried to pull herself together and figure out how long she had spent here. She figured it has been about an hour. An hour of waiting and torment of uncertainty. Who kidnapped them? Where was Xenia? What was happening to her? What would happen to them? When would Malfoy find them?

Of that her husband would find them, Lily had not a moment's doubt, and that gave her hope. Scorpius saved her before, many times; he found her the first time she was kidnapped. He will find her now.

How stupid she had been! Lily realized that what had happened was her own fault – after all, she sensed someone watching, felt the unease. And her wand, disappearing so inexplicably! How many times has Scorpius told her to trust her intuition? She merely joked it off… And now she sits in a dungeon, waiting. Waiting for someone whose voice she heard in the dark to decide her fate. Hers and Xenia's.

Lily stood up to examine her prison once more. She tried in vain to Disapparate or use wandless magic. She failed at the first (it _was_ too much to expect her kidnapper to be stupid enough to leave her such an obvious escape route); and she was too inexperienced at the second. Perhaps, there was a way to escape from here, but she doubted it – she must be deep underground, what with no windows or air holes. And she is not mentally linked to anyone like she had been the first time, back at Hogwarts. And this is not Scorpius' mansion, familiar to him down to the last bush.

Could it be the house of the Zabinis?!

Until this morning Lily never asked herself what would happen when Priscilla is released or when her elder brother recovers. She has been living in her own fairy tale, where they simply didn't exist. Everything that had happened retreated firmly into the past, leaving behind only viscid longing for Mum. Yet, Malfoy was right: she would never be free of her rose-tinted glasses, of which he has been trying to divest her.

And so it was them who once again tried to get to her loved ones through her? Of course, it's them; and she had concealed from her husband the news of Priscilla's release… And that lie landed her right into their hands.

This time it was so simple: no horrible potions, no elaborate tricks. Everything was so transparent that in retrospect seemed brilliant. The wand was made into a portal. And the package where the Zabinis had placed it was made of dragon hide. Only it was treated with something, to prevent the portal activating accidentally.

How stupid was this! Malfoy will kill her when he learns just how easily she'd been ensnared… How long will it take Malfoy to figure out who was behind their kidnapping?.. And what will the Zabinis do, now that they have both Xenia and her?

She heard footsteps; the corridor that led to her cell filled with rustles.

It will be merrier for you to be together," the same voice remarked next to the bars. They heard the grating of the keys, the air trembled, as a palpable indication of a spell being removed. The sound of a few footsteps, and the door closed again, leaving behind a faint aroma of Xenia's perfume. "If you need anything, holler," the kidnapper said with a smirk (Lily was trying in vain to figure out whether she had heard this voice before or not). "Maybe someone will hear you…"

The girls stood still and silent until the footsteps faded in the distance.

"Are you all right?" Xenia touched lily with ice-cold fingers, and began walking about the perimeter of their prison.

"Where have you been? What does he want? Who is he?" Lily sat down on the bench, eyeing her friend anxiously. She wasn't sure she should share her suspicions about Zabini. Why scare her? Especially since they don't know anything for sure. If only she could see him…

"I was in another cell, above, we took the stairs down on the way here," Xenia sat down next to Lily. "There was a bit lighter there, but I couldn't see this man. Of sense him, as off as it seems. It is as though he is surrounded by a shield. Or a mirror… He left at one point, then came back and said that it shouldn't be a problem for you and I sharing quarters, for as long as we are enjoying his hospitality.

The two of them fell silent, aware that things were looking down for them so far, indeed.


	10. Part 1 - Chapter 2 - James Potter

**Chapter 2. James Potter.**

"So, where are we thus flying at full sail?"

They came out of the fireplace hall at the Diagon Alley under the overcast sky that promised to open up and let loose a downpour – if not now, then in a couple of hours.

"If only we knew to which shop they were headed…" Scorpius pondered, looking around as though hoping to spot a red arrow pointing in the direction of their wives' shopping destination.

"Any one of them, really; and there are quite a few to choose from," James remarked expertly, zipping up his Quidditch team jacket. "Listen, the smartest thing we can do now is to go to the café and wait for them, instead of darting from one store to the next. There is really zero chance for us to actually run into them…"

Malfoy clearly did not want to sit idly and wait, but the first drop of rain that landed just then onto his patricianly-straight nose helped outweigh the load of his apprehensions in favor of the café.

"All right," Scorpius acquiesced, glancing at his watch. James grinned: it was as though he had made the most important decision in his life. Potter himself was certain that in no more than a few minutes the girls, wet and weary, would burst into the café, laden with shopping bags.

The chaps had scarcely entered the establishment when the veritable London deluge broke out. Their favourite table in the corner was vacant, which encouraged them even more. Well, at least at encouraged Potter – he reckoned that if they were lucky in small matters, they would be lucky in other endeavours as well. Malfoy, on the other hand, looked like he did not care where he landed his aristocratic derriere – he would have rather not landed it at all, but kept right on going…

Have you ever sat in a café in the company of a hyppogrif who was barely containing his anger? Well, maybe not anger so much as worry mixed in with a million other nuanced emotions, of which only the hyppogrifs are capable…

James was not going to reveal to his friend the allegories that his glassy stare fixed on the clock on the wall for the past ten minutes brought to his mind. Malfoy must be trying to force the clock to tick along either faster or slower, yet even Malfoys must be incapable of doing so – no matter how many rule books and codes they possess.

"Twenty more minutes," Potter noted with a slight smile, slowly stirring his drink, brought promptly by a familiar server. They were regulars here. "Do newspapers always do this to you?"

Scorpius threw his mate the most lethal glare he could muster, and turned his stare back at the clock. Right, tough luck…

James grinned crookedly, and looked around in search of something to distract Malfoy. He also was in need of distraction to ward off the Scorpius-relayed anxiety. His face was making James feel down in the mouth – concern for Lily's safety was always uppermost in his mind… That was understandable: even the healthy Zabini was not the most pleasant person one might encounter, and if she was now sick and out of prison… She could be counted on for a Malfoy-style prank, since the former Slytherin had remarked on more than one occasion that he and Zabini had a lot in common. And Malfoy would have never forgotten who had put him in Azkaban and for what. Even if he was out of his mind…

"Do you think it's true?" James made another attempt to get through to his friend. "That Zabini is sick?"

"She was sick even back at school," Scorpius chortled, finally taking his eyes off the clock – only to look at the entrance.

"I know that. Do you think that she has gotten a bit off her rocker?"

"Potter, I am not a simpering maiden or a gullible hamster to take or not take things on faith."

"I know, you are a ferret. Malfoy, you are insufferable today, which is normally my role. Marriage did not serve you well."

"Potter, aren't you hungry?" Scorpius crossed his legs and leaned back on his chair in a clear effort to relax.

"No, what I want is to know whether the newspapers tell the truth…" James also glanced surreptitiously at the clock, hoping that the girls were not running late; otherwise, Malfoy would blast apart half of the Diagon Alley.

"I am not Trelawney," Scorpius hemmed. "I do not have facts to have an educated answer for you, and it is difficult to build a valid hypothesis based on hearsay…"

"How is it that you weren't on top of this?" Potter said slyly, and was ashamed of it instantly, seeing his friend turn almost ashen.

"I was sure that it wouldn't be needed for another ten years or so… I shall yet find these sad excuse for healers that examined Priscilla…"

"First we must find out wives… I hope you are not being torn by the conflicting desires to kill Lily or lock her up and throw away the key?"

"Potter, have you ever seen a hedgehog with a flower pot over its head?"

"Fine, fine. I'll keep quiet. If you have decided to switch roles with me for today – I'll go along. As long as it's only for today," James conceded, glancing, once again, at the clock. Wishing they would show up already…

"If only we knew where their compunction to try on a thousand and one outfit took them…" Scorpius said pensively, and James all but nodded in agreement: "almost", because one of them had to pretend to not be worried. Otherwise, things would really go to pot…

Potter signaled to the waitress for more pumpkin juice (drinking anything stronger before lunch seemed wrong somehow, especially given the current situation…), while looking over the room, which was not all that full for the moment. Even his favourite café, the Hyppogriff's, failed to lift his spirits – must be Malfoy's edgy aura rubbing off on him.

Only a few tables were occupied – it was a regular work day for most people, after all. Unlike for the two of them: Malfoy was pretending to be busy, searching for something (a regular ferret without a tie), while Jim's morning Quidditch practice was over and the next one was not for another three hours. Xenia was due for the evening shift today (another lonely evening, but that's all right – there are always his sister and his best mate), and Lily was going to look for the rental space for a store she dreamed of opening. Something with the clothes she was always sketching, Jim hasn't gone too far into it. Yet.

As Potter glanced at the clock again, he noticed that the blonde girl at the table near the entrance was peeking at them. She was about their age, and very pretty, as James couldn't help but noticing. She was drinking something out of a tall glass. Books and a notepad lay open before her, and she took occasional notes while reading.

"Malfoy, do you like blondes?" James couldn't keep silent any longer, especially now that there was a topic for conversation.

"Potter, are you thinking about dyeing your hair?" Scorpius replied offhandedly.

"Ha-ha," James chortled, catching the beauty glancing their – or, rather Malfoy's – way again. "It's just that there is a blonde near the door who seems to be quite taken with you. Either that, or she noticed your toupee coming off…"

To Scorpius' credit, he was perhaps the only person of James' acquaintance who, upon hearing that, did not try to sneak a peek at the object in question. He made as though he hadn't heard his mate at all.

"Does she have trouble seeing my wedding ring?" Scorpius hemmed, continuing to x-ray the door.

"Maybe she wants to know what hair colour you use," Potter even cheered up a bit at his friend's momentary distraction. Yet, the anxiety inside both of them grew steadily, as the hands on the dial moved closer to two o'clock.

"Potter, you are just a regular riot today," Malfoy stretched lazily, as (James could swear it) his eyes met the eyes of the girl by the door.

"Well? Do you know her?"

"Never seen her in my life," Scorpius's voice caught imperceptibly, and James even thought that his friend saw Lily and Xenia, but the doorway was just as empty.

"You rotten liar," Potter said with a heavy sigh: he had no desire whatsoever to get into that part of Malfoy's life. His best mate had been around the block… "I just hope that she is not your mistress…"

"Yes, I guess I forgot to invite her to my wedding," Malfoy remarked icily, getting up.

"Where are you going?"

"It is two," Malfoy was clearly nervous as he tossed coins on the table. One bounced off, rolled and fell to the floor with a quite clink.

"Do you have an idea where to look for them?" James also stood, zipping up his jacket. His hands began to tremble, and his thrust them in his pockets.

Malfoy did not respond: he picked up the coin, walked to the cash counter, said something to the proprietor, an elderly wizard wearing a beret and a scarf around his neck in the summer heat, and then waved James over.

They silently exited into the street, drenched after a brief but intense rain: it was very windy, but the sun now shone high over the alley filled with few shoppers and many workers out for their lunch break.

"You go to the Madam Malkin's and I – to the Magic of Fashion," Scorpious said curtly, wrapping the scarf around his neck. "If anything – send me the Patronus. Meet up by Merlin."

Potter nodded, briefly watched his friend's retreating back, and turned away, impatient to find the girls. Walking along the sunny street, he tried to remember the last night's dream. He slept fitfully, because Xenia wasn't feeling well. And he was afraid to fall asleep. What would he see if he did?

This question nagged at him all the way to the Madam Malkin's. Even from a distance he could see through the window that the only customer in the store was an older lady trying on a cloak in an ugly shade of purple. James decided to look in, just in case.

The bell rang.

"Good day to you, sir," Madam Malkin smiled, turning toward him. "If you wait just a moment…"

"I just wanted to ask whether you had two young women in your store today: one a ginger and the other – with golden hair, both pretty…" Potter was feeling uneasy under the eyes of the older customer. Or simply anxious to hear the answer.

"Yes, they were looking for a warm cloak, in dark-green, and I am out of them today," the proprietor nodded.

"And when were they here?"

"About an hour ago, maybe a little longer."

"Do you happen to know where they were headed?" James felt calmer: they had been here, everything would be ok, they would turn up soon. Maybe even now they were at the café, chatting with the barman.

"I believe they were going to the Magic of Fashion," Madam Malkin responded a tad peevishly, clearly disgruntled at her competitor's advantage.

James thanked her and walked out, hoping that Malfoy has found them by now.

"Excuse me, young man," the lady who was shopping for a cloak walked out of the store after him.

"Yes?" he frowned, thinking that he had been recognized as a Potter. It happened often and couldn't really be helped.

"You were asking about the two girls who were here before…"

"Yes," Potter confirmed, with new interest.

"Before coming here, I was at the Cloak World, the one that's at the new wizarding shopping mall. They were also there. After they left, maybe ten minutes or so later, a young man walked in. He also asked about them. About one of them, to be precise. The ginger."

"What did he ask?" James felt cold inside, but tried to remain calm and rational. Too early to panic.

"He said that he was looking for his fiancée, because she had forgotten money at home. They told him that she had been there with another girl. But no one knew where they went afterward.

"What did he look like?"

"Hmm… Young, handsome… Jet-black hair…"

James was no longer listening – he dashed for the square with the statue of Merlin, hoping that Malfoy was already there with the girls. As he ran, he took out his wand, and the huge, bear-like dog cantered down the alley, a wordless call for Scorpius, wherever he was.

Almost at the same moment, Malfoy's Patronus appeared from around the corner, and James ran faster still. From a distance, he made out his friend's form, sitting on the bench next to Merlin. Scorpius was alone. And his pose – bent over, with his arms wrapped around his head – answered the yet unasked question.

Potter stopped at his friend's side, panting and gasping. His heart was beating out of his chest, but it was nothing compared to what he dreaded to hear.

"Malfoy!" his voice broke.

Scorpius looked up. The look in his eyes was alien, wild. In his hands he held a crumpled piece of parchment.

"I was too late," his mate's voice betrayed the panic that James had never seen in Scorpius before.

Lily. Xenia.


	11. Part 1 - Chapter 3 - Ron Weasley

**To answer some of the questions I received (without spoilers):**

**This novel has seven parts, including the Prologue, eight chapters each (the same structure as the "Spider Web"). Plus the Epilogue, which is four long chapters. It is more than twice shorter than the "Web".**

**The ages of the characters are:**

** James, Scorpius and Xenia - about 21 (since it is four years after the last novel and they were seventeen then)**

** Lily - correspondingly, 19.**

**I have to admit that the characters seem to be much more worldly at their respective ages than I was back then. On the other hand, I never had to kill a werewolf - and hope to never have to.**

_**Chapter 3. Ron Weasley.**_

In the mountains, darkness fell abruptly, and the temperature plummeted accordingly, especially in the autumn. Yet he was used to the cold and the wind that pierced him to the heart, and to the icy trail. It was commonplace to him now.

He tripped again, mentioning Merlin and his underpants for the umpteenth time. He looked back – the town and its lights have fallen away far below, and so he didn't hesitate in taking out his wand and lighting it. Ascending the hill upon which they lived in the dark was very problematic, if you weren't a Muggle (they had these strange wands – flashlights – battery-operated, like the ones that his father used to put together) or were wary of being caught with the wizard's wand. And now, holding the glowing wand in his hand, Ron was taking a risk, because there was always a chance that some Muggles (tour-ists) were still out and about, the crazy folk. Luckily, in the three and a half years since they became the proprietors of the in and pub, Ron had time to get used to Muggle oddities and even grasp his father's obsession in some ways.

Ron could now see the distant lights – the windows of their home. Yet again, he thought that they had done the right thing in settling in such an isolated spot – both because they lived among Muggles (wizards did not think this mountainous area particularly interesting and did not visit often), and due to his and Sarah's particular circumstances. They could spend their full moons here in relative tranquility. It wasn't very exciting for Bertie though…

Ron entered the house – the parlour was warm from the fire burning in the fireplace, next to which Sarah dozed off under the old throw. She was pale, which was especially apparent with the flames in the background. Looking at her, Ron realized how empty the house was for Sarah after Bertie left for school. The piano stood silently and lonely in the corner, all toys were put away, soap bubbles no longer flew about. On the other hand, the girl was safe (from them) for the first time in years and was around other young wizards. Like Albus Potter, with whom she became friends even before getting to Hogwarts, as she wrote to her mother.

An irony of fate… How soon would Bertie and Al realize that they were almost related? How would they react?

"Are you hungry?" Sarah looked at him with sickly eyes. With every day they got duller.

"No. I had supper with Peter," Ron walked over and sat down at her feet. "How are you? Shall I call the doctor?"

"Three of them have visited already. There is no need to confound the poor Muggles any further," Sarah smiled faintly, stroking his red hair. "What did Peter say?"

Peter was managing everything at the inn, the only other wizard in this god-forsaken place, elderly, without a family. He knew everything about his employers and was compassionate to their plight, adored Bertie and frequently took her with him down to the inn. If not for Peter, they wouldn't have been able to have a business in town, the risk would have been too great.

It was Peter who first proposed buying the old inn from a bankrupt Muggle owner, and he single-handedly managed the budding business. In exchange, Peter asked for little: to live at the inn, because he had nowhere to go and no one to go to. Ron agreed to it then and he never regretted his choice, even though he had to write to George and ask him to sell Ron's share of the store. George got very peeved with him, and sent the money without any sell-out.

"They say it will snow soon," Ron took her slim hand, and cradled it within his large palms, to warm it up. "The ski-ers will swarm the place, but we have to do something about you, because no doctor will travel here over snow and ice."

"Oh, the faun with them," Sarah closed her eyes. "Just a waste of money. I wrote Bertie a letter, asking her to be careful about mentioning you or our… peculiarity…"

Ron nodded – her habit of routing the conversation away from her health no longer distracted him.

Something needed to be done. And quickly, because Sarah was wasting away before his very eyes. No healer wanted to have anything to do with her, upon realizing that she was a werewolf. The memory of those beasts showing up in England four years ago (it was widely covered by the professional journals on healing, lycanthropy, and other topics) was still fresh, and so was the fear. And Muggle doctors threw up their hands in defeat, clueless about wizarding afflictions.

"Al will figure it out, you know how curious and astute he is," Ron recalled the letters from Rose, with the detailed account of all that has been happening with them since his departure four years ago. She wrote to him, all this time, even though he did not write back. He replied only thrice; he did not want to get too close to his former life, even though sometimes the longing for it became overwhelming. This is his life, with Sarah, and he refused to lose her the way he lost that other one…

"You don't want that to happen though…"

"What can I do about it?" Ron got to his feet and and picked Sarah up, marveling at how frail she has become. Even when she was held by the werewolves, she did not look so ill. He had to do something, for she had saved them all, saved him…

He remembered her there, among the humans-animals. She was not allowed to leave the werewolf camp; she was kept under the Imperious curse at all times. Yet, Sarah quickly learned to resist it, to repress the alien voice inside her head. And once she ran over to Ron, who was a frequent visitor there, among his family's foes, hoping to learn of their plans.

And she, the helpless captive of the cruel Tom – the chief werewolf, who lusted after her from the moment he saw her – lived in perpetual fear, fighting back against the curse. Fighting and listening carefully to what Tom and his cronies boldly said in her presence. She listened and then she would come to Ron. And she disclosed those designs to him, the man who, she knew, was the one responsible for making her a werewolf. She told him about the attack on the Burrow, about Hermione's kidnapping. She used to tell Ron back then that he was the only one there with human eyes… And she shared her terror of being taken along to kill Harry Potter, of being forced to transform… And then he knew that he simply had to save them both: Hermione and Sarah.

He laid the girl on the bed and covered her with the blanket, racking his brain on what to do now. How to save her?

"You will get well," he whispered, standing up to leave the room. "I shall not lose you the way I lost her…"

He hurriedly put his jacket back on, exited the house and headed down the hill again, oblivious of the first snowflakes falling on the dark earth. He had to get back to the inn – Peter owned an owl. It is not the time to worry about himself or his reluctance to reconnect with his past. He must save Sarah, who saved Hermione, Harry. Who saved him – from loneliness and pain; she gave him a purpose for living. She became his family, she took the place of whom he lost forever.

She took the place of Ginny.


	12. Part 1 - Chapter 4 - Xenia Verdi

Well, hello, my readers! I am back, hopefully for awhile. I promise, I have no intention of abandoning my project, although months of absence may have given some that idea. One way or another, we'll get to the end of the story! Here is the next chapter.

_**Chapter 4. Xenia Verdi.**_

Xenia could not see Lily's silhouette in the dark, but she sensed her presence. It was a good thing that they were too old to fear the dark. There were enough things to be afraid of as it was… To fear whom? And, more importantly, what? Xenia would have liked to know what lay in store for them – the unknown is always frightening.

"Are you afraid?" in the dark and dampness of the dungeon Lily's voice sounded unnaturally shrill.

"I wish I could say no," Xenia smirked bitterly, getting up. Sitting idly was harder. Yet, what else could she do? They were left with only one thing to do: to fret…

Fear… Her father used to say to her that people often thought her fearless. Odd, but all of her life (since her grandfather's death), she was afraid: afraid to fail at her mission, fail at saving the Light, whatever it was. She eventually got used to the feeling, although the first few years she frequently woke from her nightmares, wiping sweat and tears from her face. After a while, the fear became a part of her and she ceased to pay it any mind.

Yet, there must have been a grain of truth in her father's words. She _did_ not truly fear anything back then, save for the prophecy and her role in the fate of the Light.

The fear came when the prophecy was gone from her life, and James came into it. She learned a lot of things she had missed in her earlier years because of her dedication to her studies and her mission. As for him, he gave her gifts she had not dared dream of: strolls under starry skies, flowers on her pillow, buttered toast in bed, a white dress. He opened for her a different world, the world of love and family. And she learned that, once you love someone fiercely, with your whole heart, giving all of yourself, that feeling inevitably brings with it another feeling: fear. She learned to be frightened of ordinary everyday things, just like other people: when James was late in coming home for no apparent reason, when he got sick, when he played Quidditch with abandon, forsaking everything, including his own safety in his pursuit of the Snitch… How many times has he crashed from his broomstick as she looked on! And she feared for him, without ever letting on. And she knew that he feared for her, too. As do all who love.

Xenia walked across their cell, smiling sadly as she remembered last night, when James couldn't get any sleep, because the baby was making his presence known already. Xenia kept dashing for the loo. She knew that it was perfectly normal. Her poor James, however, was so worried, as if she was at death's door. He was willing to carry her in his arms, make her entirely unnecessary cold and hot compresses, even call for Theodick, whom he did not like very well… And she tried to calm him down between bouts of morning sickness.

"Jim, come on, you know that Potters on the whole are trouble." – "Meaning?" – "Well, in all the time I have known you, something would always be afoot. If not another attack by an army of foes, then little Al inadvertently turning Hugo's arm into a rubber python. Or you flying off your broomstick as though you are a hyppogrif with wings behind your back, and falling ten feet or so to the ground is no big deal." – "I am not that much trouble." – "Don't pout, you are a walking adventure, just like all Potters. And it appears that your baby is taking after you." – "Well, he is a Potter, after all." – "That is precisely what I've been telling you: calm down and go to sleep…"

He worried, and she worried, but it was ordinary, it was a part and parcel of their happy life, full of unexpected "Potter" stuff. And her old, former fear was all but forgotten…

And now, she had a new reason to fret. Again, not for herself. For Him, whose soul she was only beginning to feel inside her – fleetingly, almost imperceptibly, faintly. But since that soul had been inside her, Xenia felt it more and more clearly with each day. It – more, the others – less. And she hoped that one day, all she would be able to feel was him, her baby. The day he would be born – the happiest day of her life. She dreamt about it, and now the fear that that day would never come was creeping from the gloom of the unknown, making her instinctively put her hands over her still-flat belly – protecting the new soul growing there. Protecting Him.

"Forgive me, this is all my fault," Lily spoke again, breaking into the little bubble of memories that momentarily pushed away the darkness and the unknown. Xenia did not respond: it was completely irrelevant now whose fault it had been. And was it really anyone's fault?

Xenia smiled in the dark: if Lily was guilty of anything, it was of always being herself, Lily Potter. Yet, do we really chose who we are born as? And what family to be born into? The father, a hero, an insanely kind man, who tried to give his children everything he never had, protecting and spoiling them. The mother, full of tenderness and love, always there for them, especially for the only daughter. The brother who, in his own way was always there to protect and defend. Uncles, aunts, grandfathers, cousins… And the world permeated with the tales of the Hero who was her father. The dreams of a handsome prince… And the prince himself – not even the wall, but a fortress that enclosed her, elected over her a dome of absolute safety, hiding her from the cruelty and pain of the real world.

Scorpius Malfoy. Xenia always thought that what attracted him to Lily was that she had everything that he had been seeking for years and never finding. He wanted to be needed, indispensable. And he found it in Lily. And he fell in love with her for all the qualities that she possessed and he never had, qualities that he actually thought to be weaknesses and flaws. And he did everything in his power to ensure that Lily – as she was when he fell in love with her – remained herself, and so he protected her from everything. Despite always cracking jokes, even in front of Xenia, at the Potters', and especially Lily's, kindness and gullibility, calling it her "rose-tinted glasses"… Xenia suspected that Malfoy actually tried to preserve those traits in Lily so that his wife would truly complement him… So that he could learn from her… And so that he could be sure that as long as he was with her, she would stay herself…

Yet, apparently, even Malfoy was not omnipotent. The fortress caved in, while Lily remained trusting, vulnerable, believing the best in people…

"How did you know that I shouldn't touch that wand?"

"Dragon hide. Why would the person who found it wrap it in dragon hide?" Xenia sat down, feeling a little light-headed.

They fell silent again, wrapped in their own thoughts.

"I am always used as a means to get to my loved ones…" Lily said unhappily.

Xenia shrugged, before reaching out to touch her friend's hand:

"And why are you so sure you weren't abducted because they wanted you? Maybe it has nothing to do with your family, with Malfoy or with anyone else? What if you are who they want?"

"Why would Zabini want me, if not to get to…"

"So you think Zabini is behind this?"

"Who else?"

"But why them? And why now? Because of Priscilla?"

"You know that she had been released?"

"I heard at St. Mungo's that she was brought before a medical panel, and the healers decided that she really was unwell. Do you think you were kidnapped because of her?"

"Why not?"

"I don't know," Xenia shrugged again, but Lily, of course, could not see that. "Although, who else…?"

"That is what I am wondering: who else? One thing is clear though…"

"What's that?"

"That I did a stupid thing, and now you are going to be paying for it along with me," Lily said tearfully.

"Don't be a wet blanket, it will work out fine…"

Lily did not answer that, and Xenia knew why – neither of them could be sure of that outcome.

Silence was broken by a peculiar sound of Apparating, and the girls jumped to their feet, trying to determine where the noise came from. Something hit the stone floor, then another popping sound, and they were enveloped once again in the silence of the dungeon.

"Was it a house elf, you think?" Lily asked, walking toward where the commotion had been.

"I believe so, since it Apparated here," Xenia followed after her friend. "It appears he left something…"

Feeling around, they soon found a tray (or something akin to it) with two bowls of something hot and two pieces of bread.

"And what's this?" they touched something cold and rounded, like a large pan or…

"If I am not mistaken, this is a bona fide chamber pot," Xenia chuckled.

"Darn, all facilities delivered by elf-post… And there I was, hoping that we would receive a visit from our abductor and learn something, anything…

"Well, at least we have learned that they are not planning to starve us," Xenia said, "except I am not so sure that it is safe to eat…"

"Yes, quite the dilemma," Lily touched Xenia's elbow, probably just to feel her physical presence next to her; Xenia felt the same urge constantly. "If we knew where the elf would materialize next time, we could grab him and Apparate…"

"Lily," Xenia tensed and got to her feet, peering through the darkness.

"What?"

"I don't believe we are alone," the Healer could now clearly sense someone else in the room, as opposed to mere moment before.

"How do you…?"

"Well, well," the already familiar voice came from the direction of the bars, "it turns out that we truly have the honor to receive a Healer of Souls in our humble abode! Who would have though it."

"What gave you that idea?" Lily stood next to Xenia.

"Well, it was not hard to verify, and now I know for sure," they could tell that their kidnapper was smiling. Xenia suddenly lost the sense of him, as though he vanished on the spot. "Xenia Potter, who treats human souls…"

"Who are you? What do you want with us?" Lily took a step towards the voice, but instantly heard the squeaking of the bars closing, and the turning of the key.

"By the way, the food is not poisoned. On the other hand, suit yourselves, guests are free to do what they like," the mocking voice sounded right next to them. "Oh, and I would not advise you to attack my house elves; they are quite capable of defending themselves…"

"Wait!"

Two popping sounds were their answer, then silence. They did not speak for a long time, unsure what to do next.

"Xenia, do you have a hair pin?" Lily seemed to be moving toward the bars.

"Do you think it is that simple?" the other girl searched her trouser pockets for the bobby pin she used to hold her hair back when at work.

"I cannot just sit there," Lily felt in the dark for her friend's hand, took the pin, and the darkness was filled with quiet gnashing of metal.

Xenia stood next to her, leaning against the bars. She thought that she ought to eat, so as not to harm the baby. Yet, could this man be trusted? On the other hand, if he wanted to poison them, why all the machinations with the portkey? Speaking of the portkey…

"Ouch!"

Xenia straightened abruptly, because the lock clicked and the bars opened.

"I can't believe it…" Lily whispered, not moving. "This is stupid."

Xenia stood still, too.

"Hang on," Lily headed for the tray (luckily, they had begun to get their bearings in the dark), and was soon back at Xenia's side. "Let's check."

As Xenia gathered, Lily threw the chamber pot into the opening.

Just when it should have crashed to the floor, the ceiling above it lit up with something akin to grey mist, and down on the floor there began some strange movement.

The sound of the pot hitting the floor never came, as through it fell on something soft. And this something was alive, and making a strange rustling noise.

"What is it?" Lily whispered, afraid to move. Xenia eyed the glowing ceiling – uneven, as though in a cave. Why did it light up? What's there on the floor outside of the cell? What trap was waiting for them?

"Ouch!"

"What?" Xenia started when Lily gripped her hand.

"Something grabbed my leg!"

And then Xenia also felt the sturdy, whippy ropes beginning to wind around her feet.

"Quick! To the bench!"

They managed to free their legs, and a moment later stood atop the stone bench, their back pressed against the cold, uneven wall.

"What is it?" Lily's voice shook, although she clearly was trying to reign in her panic.

"The Devil's Snare," Xenia whispered. "Don't move, they retreat from the light…"

At that moment, the ceiling above them lit up as well, and they could see that the tentacles were not moving away at all; they continued to multiply, albeit at a much slower pace.

The noise grew quieter, but the girls were afraid to move.

"I think they stopped growing," Lily whispered. The ceiling also dimmed.

"Well, that's a relief," Xenia remarked with sarcasm, feeling nauseated from fright, from hunger, from exertion. Yet, should she faint now, she might never wake up in the embrace of the lovely plant that now seemed to occupy the entire floor of their cell.

The girls quietly slid down the wall, holding still each time they heard the faint rustling noise started anew.

Xenia finally sat down, with her knees pulled tightly to her chest, and was still. Who said that there no hopeless situations?..


	13. Part 1 - Chapter 5 - Rose Weasley

_**Chapter 5. Rose Weasley.**_

Chapter 5. Rose Weasley.

You'd think there was no cause for concern whatsoever, yet Malfoy managed to find one!

Rose waived her wand, as she carried the cup to the sink. She could feel Theo's probing gaze on her, but did not turn around. Would he hold it in, or would he ask? He would not try to pull the answer out of her head, of that she was certain.

The cup slipped from her fingers onto the floor and broke; Rose automatically crouched down to pick up the pieces.

"Your wand," Theo said softly into her ear, leaning over her.

She smiled at him, a little bemused.

"Your palm," he took her hand, and only then Rose realized that she had managed to cut herself. And all that because of Malfoy and his newspaper!

Theo was already closing the wound, and she still stared at the drop of blood on her cuff.

"Will you tell me?"

Rose nodded, as she removed blood and shards from the floor.

"Did you read the paper?" she followed Theo to his study, where a potion was brewing. The room was filled with strange aromas, but Rose had long been used to it, and often even enjoyed being here and watching him work.

"Yes," Theo glanced at her and Rose knew at once that he got her meaning.

"Do you think there is a reason to worry?" she looked into the cauldron next to Theo. The simmering liquid in it was greenish in colour. "What is this?"

"A salve," Theo replied curtly, still looking at her. "You are worrying already."

"You have discovered your inner Healer of Souls?" Rose joked, leaning over to kiss his slightly prickly chin. He did not show any outward reaction to her words. "All right, it is not really me, but Malfoy, the master alarmist."

"Are we talking about the same Malfoy here?" Theo asked a tad skeptically, as he put his arms around her, but Rose sensed his irony.

"Fine, maybe not a alarmist, but his suspiciousness makes him look for danger everywhere. And now…"

"He actually has valid reasons for that," Theo released one arm from around Rose to stir the potion.

"You think that they are fools enough to do something right away?" Rose tugged him toward the chairs. "Should Malfoy get as much as sniffles, everyone will blame it on the Zabinis; people still remember Fritz ranting at Jim's graduation, blaming Malfoy for all his family's misfortunes…"

"Rose," Theo lightly pressed her hand.

"What?" she smiled and leaned into him for a kiss. One corner of his lips curled up in a smirk. "All right, I am no longer worried."

"I did my best," a slight smile ghosted across his lips.

"You did you best?" the girl exclaimed in mock indignation. "You barely said two words!"

"Ones needed the most," he remarked, getting up and heading for the cauldron. She smiled, looking at his straight back: he could calm her without any words at all. Or put her thoughts in the right direction.

No reasons to worry, she had just proven it herself. And no need to succumb to Malfoy's overblown paranoia; he had James for that.

"Do you think Priscilla Zabini is truly out of her mind?" Rose watched Theo take the heavy cauldron off the fire and pour the potion out into a retort. "Well, I know that you did not examine her yourself, but it is possible, isn't it..?"

"Rose."

She smiled again.

"Yes, I am talking to myself today."

"Talk to me," he asked, sitting down next to her. "You are tired."

She nodded and began telling him about her day at the Institute for Advanced Magic, where she was the assistant to the professor who taught Advanced Tranfiguration. Her job also allowed her to learn a lot.

"And this really ancient man stopped by, also a professor. He said that he remembered Mum and even tested her in NEWTs… Theo, are you listening?"

He nodded, with his eyes closed.

"What are you thinking about?" She looked into his face; he seemed lost in thought.

"My father," he replied finally. Rose immediately traced his train of thought: Hogwarts, exams, Severus Snape, his enemies… Everything that Theo knew or wished he did.

"Al said that he wants to write a book," Rose traced the veins on his burn-spotted wrist. "The book about "Uncle Severus"."

"Al can," Theo nodded, and Rose knew that he was fighting back a smile, remembering her cousin's visits. Al spent a lot of time in Theo's study, sitting for hours on the edge of his desk and chatting away about Severus Snape, as he had come to know him in his wondrous dreams. And Rose was sure that Theo was already missing these chats and Albus, who was interested in potion making, and often caused minor fires, trying to help.

They were silent for a time, their eyes on the candle, slowly burning out on the desk.

"Let's go?" Theo stood up, pulling her with him. The flame faltered and almost went out, and at the same moment came a knock on the window.

"An owl?" Rose pushed back the drapes and looked at the bird with renewed uneasiness. This was not an owl of one of Theo's patients, and it was not James' or Lily's owl, from whom, she suddenly realized, she'd been expecting to hear all along. Yet, she recognized the bird, although she had only seen it all of three times in her life.

"Theo, a candle," Rose said anxiously, throwing open the window and taking the letter from the owl.

As before, the scroll looked hastily and carelessly sealed.

"This is from Dad," the girl felt her heart beat with a mix of worry and joy in her chest. The rare tidings from her father, his letters were among her most preciously kept things – they gave her hope that he was alive and well, that, despite everything that had happened, he remembered them. Even a couple of scribbled lines brought her joy. Each of the those lines she knew by heart, from frequent re-readings. They made her feel closer to her father, gone, it seemed, so long ago, yet still present in the hearts of Rose's loved ones.

She told no one about the letters, save Theo and Hugo. She took great care in keeping them a secret from her mother, for fear of causing her new pain. Because Mum tried to write to him, Rose was certain of that. And she was just as certain that he never responded. And the fact that he did write to her, Rose, was her thoroughly protected secret.

Anyway, secrets were not something new to her family. Uncle Harry had a secret of his own: sometimes he, unbeknownst to anyone, would visit Aunt Ginny's grave and stay there for hours. Of course, this was something that Albus divulged during one of his visits. Theo never broke the mental link with which he connected Al and Uncle Harry on the night when Xenia save the Light. Rose learned that from Theo. And she was also sure that it was Albus who talked Theodic into maintaining his link with Uncle Harry. Albus was good at talking people into things. And his ability to know things about his father was something that Al took great care to keep to himself. And so it was that everyone in their family had their own little secret…

Rose broke the seal on the scroll with shaking hands, recalling everything her father had written her so far, unsure of what she was about to read now. She had long ceased to expect the words that would fulfill her heart's desire: that he was coming back, that he wanted to see her – because she understood her father, who believed that he had burned all his bridges (and deep down , Rose agreed with him, especially when she saw her mother and Uncle Harry together), and he did not want to cause any unnecessary pain – neither to her nor to himself…

"Rosie, it is better if do not write to me; you are just torturing yourself. I shall be all right. Take care of your mother and be happy. Love, Dad." That was the answer to the first dozen letters she wrote, where she detailed everything that was going on with them, how they rebuilt their lives, how Lily was making piece with everything, how Uncle Harry was coming back to life – of all the little things that she wanted to share with him, as if to let him participate in their lives, if only through her letters. She wrote letter after letter, even though she was not sure that the owls were able to find him. Yet, she kept writing. And when she received his brief reply, she was madly happy – because it gave her hope.

"I am glad that you found your happiness. I am well, do not worry. Love, Dad." These lines reached her a year and a half after his first letter, as a response to her news of her and Theo living together, of Theo opening his own clinic after leaving Hogwarts, while she was finishing her studies and helping out at the Institute, of their plans to go back to Hogwarts to teach one day. She shared her life with him, and he responded.

Then – almost two years of silence, before one day the owl that took yet another letter to her father returned with a braided multi-coloured bracelet, which Rose has worn on her hand ever since. After all, she received her father's gift on her birthday.

Theo lit two candles and stood stock still next to her, letting Rose to be the first to scan the long-awaited lines. She looked at him in confusion, handing him the letter. She felt as though a string was pulled tight inside of her.

"Rose, I need a healer as soon as possible, one who would not mind treating a werewolf…" What followed in surprisingly neat handwriting, quite unlike her father, was the address – a small town somewhere in Bulgaria, an inn, where, according to her father, the fireplace was not linked to the Floo network.

"We'll Apparate," Theo was already walking to his desk. Rose nodded, watching him gather his small valise with potions and arcani. "First to Dublin, then to Paris, and then through the fireplace to the nearest town… Rose."

She ran into his arms, bursting into tears: either for gratitude that he was ready to go on a moment's notice who knows where to help her father, or for fear that something had happened to him, and they would be too late.

"He _is_ able to write," Theo said reasonably, wiping tears from her cheeks. "Get your cloak."

She nodded, catching his confidence, and dashed into the foyer, berating herself for weakness.

Everything will be fine. They'll get there in time. And she will finally see her father.

She grew calmer as she fastened her cloak, threw on the hood, and went to join Theo. She was about to open the door, when a thought struck her:

"We have to tell Mum! And Hugo!"

"No," Theo firmly gripped her shoulders.

"But what if Dad…!"

"Rose, is paranoia contagious?" the young man nudged her toward the door, and they stepped out into the chilly gloom.

"Yes," she agreed reluctantly – not with his suggestion, but with his opposition to worrying her family. He was right: there was no need to trouble her mother and brother. First they needed to help her father.

"Your hand," Theo squeezed her cold fingers and began spinning in place, bringing Rose along.

Rose followed after Theo and in a couple of seconds they stood next to a hotel in Dublin, in a quiet and dark spot, barely lit by a dim street light. Salty, piercing wind flew from the Channel.

Rose knew this place: she and Theo stayed here once when he visited a patient of his from Dublin, who could not travel to see him. Yet, now she was not interested in her surroundings: they were in a hurry. Theo looked at her, as though checking whether she was ready for the new round of Apparating, and then glanced between the buildings at the Channel, beyond which lay the evening Europe.

Rose gave him her best cheerful smile: Apparating over large distances several times in a row was complicated. One ran the risk of Splinching or missing one's destination. And she really did not want to find herself in the middle of the English Channel – if only because she couldn't swim very well.

Theo squeezed her hand, and she no longer thought about the consequences of unsuccessful Apparition: even when Theo was in a hurry, he did not make mistakes. Rose was always sure of him. Because he was her Theo…

A couple of moments of darkness – and they stood in the middle of the broad Avenue de Paris, known only to wizards. To the right of them she saw the glowing sign: "European Continental Floo Network. Welcome!", with language of the message changing every ten seconds.

Rose and Theo hurried toward the big white edifice, maneuvering between wizards of all nationalities to be found in Europe and beyond.

Rose has never been to the Continental Center, although she read loads about it. She thought that it had been a splendid idea to connect all fireplaces of Europe into a single network – the trips were now simpler, especially if one was none too certain of one's destination.

At another time, she would have been fascinated by the huge hall with five levels of fireplaces, with witches and wizards constantly coming out of them or coming in, only to vanish amidst green flames. Yet, now she only cared about one thing – time. Theo must have thought likewise, because he almost immediately found an available clerk clad in green, who gave them a well-rehearsed smile:

"The Devereaux's "European Continental Floo Network" welcomes you," the representative said dutifully. "Which country..?"

"Bulgaria," Theo named the city, and the clerk began flipping through the directory that hung in the air at his shoulder. "The nearest fireplace is three hundred…"

"No problem," Theo handed the rep several galleons, and they were promptly led to the fireplaces on the first level and handed boxes of Floo powder. "Bon voyage!"

They departed simultaneously, and Rose sometimes caught glimpses of Theo as they flew through fireplaces.

They came out of the fireplace in the small room of a dark and dirty-looking pub, with only a few patrons who stared in amazement at the rare guests.

"Let's go," Theo quickly crossed the room, and they found themselves in a crowded, warm street that seemed squeezed by the houses on either side. Rose felt tired, but she only had one more leg of the journey to make to see her father.

Theo smiled faintly – his lips barely twitched – and drew Rose with him into the twilight of Apparition.


	14. Part 1 - Chapter 6 - Scorpius Malfoy

Chapter 6. Scorpius Malfoy.

The initial, momentary weakness. For the first time he knew the weakening of the knees, and icy cold washing over the heart, formerly so cold in and of itself. For a moment, he was knocked off his feet.

And for this moment, someone was going to pay.

"You always get yours, even if it takes years in the making. The stakes simply keep going up. Your move, Malfoy."

He crumpled the parchment, but did not throw it out, despite the initial impulse. Just stuffed the short message in his coat pocket.

He had allowed himself a moment, but now he was ready to think calmly and rationally, as though it wasn't his wife who had been kidnapped by his enemies. He suppressed the frantic beating of his heart and resolutely pulled Potter to his feet by his collar. Too bad he couldn't put the armour of logic and self-control around his friend's heart, as he'd done with his own. James was painful to look at.

Well, we'll play then. Yet, for each move, there'll be a countermove with its own price. For each moment of fear, for each tear drop.

"Let's go," he said coldly to Potter, already knowing what to do next.

"Do you know where the Zabinis live?" James' voice was firm, which was good news. Although for Malfoy to feel good about anything right now would take something even more extraordinary than a naked McGonagall dancing tango with Filtch.

Scorpius got quickly to the Fireplace Hall, noting to himself the grimace of rock-hard tension that seized his face. He felt like running, crushing and causing pain – all while reasoning and acting with icy calm and prudence.

"Potter," Scorpius pushed his friend into the big fireplace and under the surprised stares of the wizards around them, squeezed himself in next to him. Whatever. Even if it was not comfortable, it was faster, and they would not run the risk of Potter lagging behind or getting stuck somewhere half-way. And time was of more essence than ever right now.

"Are we going to Za…?" the rest got lost in fierce coughing, as Malfoy threw down the Floo powder and James choked up on smoke.

The past. Years. Revenge. Payback. The game. His move.

The portkey. A young man with black hair. Only Lily, not Xenia.

He ran through the known facts in his mind, trying to understand the logic of the perpetrator. Thoughts, like drops, rolled thickly in his mind, blocking out feelings. He knew how to do this; at one time that was all he'd known. Before Lily. And he could do it again. This was just a game.

Flying double through fireplaces was painful and close quarter, but Malfoy didn't give a damn.

"Khh-mm, where..?" they fell out onto the green rug in the high-windowed room, with the bed covered with a silvery-green comforter, and silvery window drapes. "Are we at the Zabinis'?"

"Forget the Zabinis. They ears are burning," Scorpius dropped, walking over to the wardrobe in his room at Malfoy Manor, and looking at his reflection in the mirror. No, no panic showing on his face; everything hidden inside. Just as it should be.

"Malfoy! The Zabinis! We need to rescue Lily and Xenia! They can be...!"

"Shut up," Scorpius growled, then stepped toward his friend and grabbed him by the shoulders. "We'll find them; you know that. But the game is on, and we do not have the luxury of a wrong move."

"The game? What do you mean?"

"I know neither with whom I am playing, nor the rules or the point behind this game," he pulled out of his coat pocket the scroll of parchment that an unfamiliar owl thrust at him with a mocking air, as he was speaking with the clerk from the Magic of Fashion, who had seen the portkey activate. The one who had handed the girls the portkey. "I know only one thing. This has something to do with my past."

"Is it Zabini?" Potter asked, calmer now, sitting down on the edge of the bed. As though his legs finally gave way.

"I'm not sure," Scorpius sat down next to him. "This is too obvious, but as a possibility…"

"With your past, such possibilities might be in the thousands," James smirked bitterly, not sure what to do with his hands. "What shall we do?"

"Play."

"What?!"

"He is waiting for our move. And, logically, he would expect us to be on our way to the Zabinis right this minute."

"Then why are we here?"

"We have to figure out some things first," Malfoy stood up. "And the fastest way to do this is to involve my parents."

"Are you sure?" Potter asked, skepticism and hope warring in his voice.

"They won't have a choice," Scorpius shrugged his shoulders. "Let's go."

"Malfoy."

"What?" he looked back at his friend impatiently. James was white as a sheet, despair in his eyes. "Potter, you…"

"Xenia is pregnant," James seemed to squeeze the words out, clenching his fists.

The curse Malfoy uttered seemed to perfectly sum up all other possible replies.

Boy, was someone in major trouble now! Did they think Malfoy was all fun and games?

"He will not touch them. For now," Scorpius added, for the sake of honesty. "Let's go."

They entered the fireplace in silence, once again together. The journey was quick: from Scorpius' room to the parlor, where they found only the house elves, clearing the tea things and dessert tray from the table.

"Who are we having?" Malfoy demanded.

"Sir Marcus," the elf maid squeaked, bowing.

"Like I would know who that is," Malfoy growled out. He headed straight from the parlor, not intending to wait until his father was done with Sir what's-his-name. There were more and more of those visiting lately: his father entered the public life once again and was strengthening his position by investing ever larger sums in various projects and enterprises, receiving important witches and wizards at his home, and visiting them in return, spending hours at the Ministry of Magic, schmoozing with officials or simply making himself visible in the hallways. Just can't get over the stain on the Malfoy family honour… On the other hand, one has to occupy his time somehow. And now his activism can come in quiet handy.

They were in the study, discussing something or other. When Scorpius burst in without so much as by your leave, Draco's expression turned stony. Not that the chap gave two spits about it from the beloved Hogwarts' Astronomy tower. Of course, James Potter was there, which always put his father on edge, but hey, it has been long enough for him to get used to it.

Mother moved away from the window, looking concerned. She knew perfectly well that her son would never invade like this without serious cause.

"Is there a fire somewhere?" she smiled, walking over, as her husband and their visitor, a young, well-dressed blond man who eyed them curiously, rose from their seats.

"Good day, Scorpius," Father said coolly, with a barest of nods at James. Fine. No ceremony then. "Allow me to introduce to you our guest, Marcus De…"

"I have something urgent to discuss with you," Malfoy broke in.

"… the advisor to the Minister on magical transportation development," Draco stubbornly concluded, glaring. The veritable lighthouse at Cape Finisterre.

"I believe I should go," the guest interjected, setting down his wine glass. "We can discussed everything else at a dinner at my house…"

What followed were the long departure ritual, during which Malfoy Jr. stood by the fireplace, drumming his fingers on the mantle and Potter stood frozen by the window, staring off into space. A good spot for a new Potter statue; need to remember to mention it to Father.

Rabid hyppogrif, he is still capable of sneering, despite the icy void within that arrested both love and fear – the other emotions he turned out to be capable of in the last few years. This is no time for feelings. Yet, oh how blood surges in the veins…

"What's happened now?" his parents re-entered the study and shut the doors.

"Who has the authority to create portkey without oversight?" Scorpius looked his still-livid father in the face.

"And for the sake of that, you..?" Drake glared at his son before remembering James Potters' presence and lowering his voice. "Explain what happened."

"The portkeys first, Father," Scorpius insisted, glancing heavily at his mother.

"Many people can," Asteria sat in the chair, her eyes on her son. "The top echelons at the Ministry, the Minister's security detail, the Magical Department of Law Enforcement, international relations departments…"

"And those who obtains a permit to create one," Draco finished, his fingers drumming on the table next to him. "So..?"

"Do those who create a portkey have to register it?" Scorpius once again ignored his father's question.

"Well, yes, especially those with a permit: the place, the time, the object, the purpose, etc.," Draco shrugged his shoulders, resigned. "Although I don't think that the Aurors would bother with that, what with their special hero status…"

Everyone in the room knew at whom the remark was aimed, yet both Malfoy and James ignored the Malfoy Sr.'s jibe at Harry Potter: firstly, James' father was no longer an Auror; and secondly, their feud was old news in the newly united family. Speaking of unions…

"So, what happened?" Scorpius' mother looked at him expectantly.

"My wife, Lily Malfoy, was kidnapped. Xenia was taken, too."

"Your…?" Father seemed about to expire, but Scorpius would not focus on that. "Your…?"

"Mother, who gives out permits and keeps track of portkeys? Is it possible to obtain information on a specific portkey?"

"Of course, it is: at the Service of Magical Transportation, at the Ministry. Why would you need it?" Asteria calmly handed her husband his whiskey glass. "The person who kidnapped… them would have hardly registered there."

Scorpius nodded.

"You are probably right. But this is our only lead right now. Can one of the Zabinis create a portkey without registering it?"

"No," Father finally seemed to be coming around to the joyful news of his new kinship with Harry Potter. "When did you..? How did you dare?"

"Mother?" Scorpious shifted his gaze to Asteria, realizing that he could not have a productive discourse with his father today.

"Draco is correct. The Zabinis would not be likely to have done this. Especially now that Priscilla is home, and they are under constant observation. And Blaise's post at the Ministry is too insignificant to warrant that kind of access. And they are unlikely to obtain a permit legitimately…"

"All right," he turned to leave.

"Scorpius."

"Yes, Mother?"

"Can we be of help?"

"Not yet," he suddenly felt a disturbing tickle in his throat, and turned abruptly toward the doors. "Other than make peace with my marriage to Lily Potter."

"We must let Xenia's parents know," Asteria spoke, looking at James at he followed after his friend.

"Hold off on that for now," Scorpius responded. "First, we need to find out exactly what happened. Potter, let's go."

They left the study in dead silence – Father never said another word.

"I will not say anything to Dad…" James said quietly, looking wistfully at Scorpius. "Not yet. Where are we off to now?"

"To see Zabini. Time to start playing," Malfoy checked his wand, and stepped into the fireplace.

The first move, the one he was expected to make. What next? And if not Zabini, then who? Who?

He didn't feel like delving into the past. Not yet. Let's make the first move. After that, something should become clear.

Malfoy sighed heavily and threw the Floo powder.

"Diagon Alley!"

Please let them be alright.


	15. Part 1 - Chapter 7 - Albus Potter

Chapter 7. Albus Potter.

He did not remember Hogwarts very well, which did not keep him from trying his hand at charting it in his first few days at Hogwarts. He had heard many times that his father had a map that was almost live, but wanted to make up his own rather than begging Dad for it, like James did. And, without further ado, Al began doing just that, aided by Amanda Dursley, when she wasn't too busy with her studies (she was taking the OWLs this year), and especially Bertie, his new friend. Well, and also…

"Mr. Potter, what are you engaged in here?" Professor Faust loomed over the boy. Al quickly raised his green eyes at the teacher and smiled. Bertie nudged him under the table; she was a bit wary of the Head of the Gryffindor house.

"Advanced studies, Professor," Al replied, drawing attention of the entire class – Gryffindors and Ravenclaws alike.

"Pardon?" the teacher must have already realized that he had made a mistake, not for the first time, but Al always made it a point to talk to professors calmly and politely, unlike James in his former years here. "And you think that the ordinary studies are of no use to you at this point?"

"I have already read this paragraph, a year ago," Albus answered truthfully: Uncle Severus had been bringing quite a few books into his dreams lately (probably at Grandpa Albus' request), and read them while Albus was working on one potion or another. More often than not Albus could not remember the potion he had brewed (or spilled-blown up-evaporated), but the titles of books that Uncle Severus recited from memory stayed with him and he would look for them later in the attic and read anew. The attic was full of them, carelessly tossed by James, carefully put away by Lily and Rose, indifferently stowed by Hugo. They were about many interesting things: dragons, Grandpa Albus, Dad, and medicinal herbs. The books were many, and at first glance they often looked the same. However, when opened, they were quite different, as though each book had its own soul. And so, Albus spent a lot of time with the books, sorting them into stacks: Rose's, Jim's, Lily's…

Jim's books were always interesting to peruse. They were either brand-new, to the point when they crunchy when opened for the first time or were covered with funny doodles, inscriptions and splotches. For instance, one wizard in a "Hogwarts: the History" illustration was always trying to hide, because Jim bestowed upon him spectacles, a beard, hoofs and a tail. Sometimes, notes would fall out of a book – Al could never decifer one of them: "Tomorrow is the beginning of operation "Mother Theresa"." Al liked the hedgehogs that frequently showed up in James' books. Then there was the letter "V", often meticulously written and outlined many times over, and a funny inscription in a different handwriting: "The hedgehog has been matched."

Rose's textbooks were well-used, but always meticulously repaired, without missing pages, like his brother's, but with a lot of bookmarks and highlights. There was an occasional note, but Albus could never make it out. He liked Rose's books, because he loved Rose and Theo, very much. And handling her books always made him think of Uncle Severus in the Christmas cap that he once put on his head. And Grandpa Albus laughed then, and Uncle Severus almost smiled. But then he was always a grave sort of person, just like Professor Faust…

"And, pray tell, what does this paragraph say?" Al could see that the professor was no longer cross: Faust liked students who studied hard. He just did not like it when students broke the rules or idled, like Alex Broon was doing right now, sitting behind Al and Bertie.

"Haven't read it, have you?" Al smiled, pulling the book closer. "It is quite simple and interesting, you might enjoy it." Bertie kicked him again under the desk. "It talks about the history of the Dark Arts. It starts out by saying that there is always evil and there is always good," Al was looking at Faust, but seeing Grandpa Dumbledore, as he sat on the barrel and explained where the bad wizards came about. "It's like sunny and shadowy spots: in the sun it is warm and nice, and in the shade it is murky and cold. If there are no shadows to flee from, then why would anyone need the sun?"

"Mr. Potter, please stay on the topic," the professor said evenly. He was not irritated, perhaps because everyone on the class was listening closely to Al now, even Broon.

"It is all the same. Like two spectacle halves," the boy touched his own. "When there is Good Magic, it gives rise to the Dark, bad Magic. Does it not? And so, the Dark Arts came along a bit after the good magic. And they were not created by bad, Dark wizards, but the ordinary wizarding folk. Well, they were curious, you see. They never thought that it would be used for evil. It's like our wands: the wand-maker makes them and sells them, not knowing if the wand would ever be used to hurt someone…"

"Enough, Mr. Potter," Faust cut the boy off. "Are these your advanced studies? This is not what's written on the book."

"Well, I believe that it is, Professor, but between the lines," Albus showed the Head of Gryffindor the parchment with the draft map of Hogwarts. "I am researching the history of the school."

"Give me this," Al realized that the teacher was cross after all. Oh well, not for the first time. The boy handed over his drawings (after all, new ones could be made). "At the next class you shall make a presentation on the Dark Arts during the Middle Ages.

Al nodded, watching the teacher walk away.

"Why do you always argue with him?" Bertie asked as they were leaving the classroom. "And not only with him."

"I wasn't arguing," Al remarked, hopping onto the window sill.

"He just wants to show off," Alex Broon stopped next to them. "PAS, you are like a walking encyclopaedia or something."

"Is that bad?" Al shrugged his thin shoulders, used by now to the nickname his friends had given him because they thought that saying his full name was too long and leaving out anything ruined all the charm. Therefore, "Potter, Albus Severus" that Faust called out during Sorting, causing ripples of excitement throughout the room, was quickly made over by Broon into "PAS". "At least my wand does not fly out of my hand and into Flitwick's eye.

"A special talent, indeed," Alex huffed. "And I do not fall off the broomstick…"

"And I have yet to get stuck on the moving stairs, while you have, thrice!"

"Twice!" Broon protested. "And I…"

"I…I…I… It's like you have a veila around!" Alex's sister Marin, the last member of their motley crew, walked up to them. She shook out her wave of black hair and winked at the always a little sad Bertie. "Faust will soon lock you up in the library, Al, to do your advanced studies."

"He can't," Bertie chuckled, "what will the other professors do? Slughorn is already daydreaming about Al taking his Potions OWL along with his NEWT…

"McGonagall will be all for it though," Alex interjected. The foursome headed to the Great Hall for lunch. "She will spend a long time gathering all the needles that our wonderchild spread around the classroom with his uncontrolled magic…"

"I hope she has plenty of matches left," Marin laughed, nudging Albus. "Hey, Earth to Albus!"

"I think I shall cut the next class," he said a tad sadly, thrusting his hands in his cloak pockets.

"Let me guess what you have after lunch," Marin rolled her eyes. "Stop this, Al."

"Well, we have this broom that refuses to carry Albus Potter, whose father, grandfather and other kin were superb Quidditch players and legacy members of the Gryffindor team, and whose brother is the Seeker of the London Lacewings," Alex taunted, which earned him a slap upside the head from Bertie. "Hey! Every word's true!"

"Shut it, Broon," Marin asked stopping just within the entrance of the Hall. "Albus, don't even think about cutting, or Arabesky will punish you again, and that will cost you the "Best First Year" pin for sure…

Al wanted to say that he didn't care about the pin, but he kept quiet, merely sighing for he knew his friend to be right. The young wizard Anthony Arabesky, who taught Flying just could not make peace with the fact that Al, so advanced in all the other subjects, simply could not master flying a broomstick. Plus, he was a "Potter". For some reason, Arabesky decided that Al simply was not trying, and has punished him twice already.

The boy nodded at his friends, and he and Alex headed for their table. It had been so easy back home, on his own broomstick: to speed up and fly into a snow drift. Or a pool. He had been flying for years, but did not follow any rules, just did what felt good to him. He did not like Quidditch much, but flying around the garden or playing tag with Dad, or tie Lily's cat to the broomstick and fly with him – that was fun… During class, Arabesky insisted that everything be done correctly, not the way Al was used to and wanted. As the result, he now had several points taken off and a few bruises. He should probably write Dad…

Too bad one cannot learn to fly a broomstick while sleeping. Simply flying was a piece of cake…

"I hate the broomstick," he sighed as he began to eat.

"Let's tie you to it," Alex suggested cheerfully.

"You have tried that already," said Amanda Dursley, stopping next to the boys. "Al, don't try that again, or you will stick with it indefinitely – Arabesky will not even think of helping you out; he will be enjoying it too much…"

"Yes, I didn't think of that," Broon scratched his head. "Shall we break your arm instead? Or a leg?"

"How about a head? Yours?" Amanda suggested and headed toward her table.

A group sigh rippled through the room, and Al glanced dejectedly at the teachers' table, where Professor Arabesky had just appeared.

Lily would probably find him attractive as well, but Al did not like him. He would have preferred Professor Faust…

"What is it they all see in him?" Alex pretended to vomit into his plate as he looked at Bertie and Marin who had forgotten about their food, just like a dozen other girls.

"He is good on a broomstick," Albus guessed. Suddenly, his eyes twinkled merrily behind his half-moon glasses. "How about if he just kept flying?"

"Meaning?"

"Well, let's glue him to the broomstick," Al shrugged his shoulders. "I have the superglue from the "Twenty ways to grow up a scallywag" kit…

Alex thought for a mere second, and then nodded: Broon was always up for sticking it to teachers, which was ironic, since his own father taught at the Boys' Wizarding Academy.

"Owl Post!"

Albus saw Bertie receive a letter, got up and walked over to her.

"How is your mum?" he knew that Bertie's mother has been very ill for a long time, and that his friend was very sad about it, try as she might not to let on.

"She wrote that she was better," Albus could see that Bertie doubted that.

"What did the Healers say, did she write about that?" Marin turned toward them.

"Let's go to class," Bertie stood up, tucking the letter into her pocket. She was always reluctant to speak about her family.

Al nodded, and let the girls through. The still chewing Alex caught up with them, and they walked out into the Entrance Hall.

"I have to get something in my room," Al winked at his mate behind the girls' backs.

"I'm with you, all right?" Bertie went up the stairs alongside Albus, clearly hesitant to say something.

"Are you sad because of your mum?" they walked slower, knowing that they still had time.

"Yes. She writes that she is better, but somehow I think she is not telling me the truth.

Albus often asked Bertie about how his mother was, because he remembered his father being in the hospital, and saying goodbye to his own mother, too. And he did not like dogs…

Bertie was silent, clearly dealing with her feelings, but Al so wanted to help. And how can one help without knowing what the problem is?! And he so wants to be certain that Bertie's mum will be alright!

He caught her sad gaze but for a moment, and nearly crashed from the stairs, grabbing the railing at the last moment.

"What?"

"Let's go."

Bertie stared in fear and confusion as Al turned around and headed back.

"Albus…"

"I know two excellent Healers who will not refuse to help your mum."

"Al, how did you…?"

He did not bother to tell her that he could hear her thoughts – he was in too much hurry.

"Quickly," he grabbed the girl's hand and pulled her along.

"You know Healers who…" she faltered, still uncertain of what he knew and how.

"Yes. One is my brother's wife and Theo is my cousin's fiancée," Albus practically flew down the stairs, shocked at how much time had been lost.

"Al, did you have too much to eat?"

They ran right into Marin and Alex.

"No, his brain swelled from all that clever thinking," Broon stood by the railing. "Where are you off to?"

"We have to get out of the school, in order to summon my relatives who are Healers to help Bertie's mum," Albus explained quickly, thinking of ways to sneak out undetected.

"Al, listen…" Bertie was trying to reason with her friend. Al did not listen. He knew now that her mum cannot get better because other Healers refused to treat her. Because Bertie's mum is a werewolf! Yes, they are bad, Albus knew it, but some of them are good… Bertie's mum. Uncle Ron, whom Albus remembered well. Too bad he was gone…

"We must go, now," Albus looked at his startled friends. "We'll find Theo and Xenia, and you, Bertie, will take them to your mum…"

Bertie's mum cannot die, what with no loving father and Hermione, only with an Uncle, of whom she spoke reluctantly.

"Al, you can write them!" Marin caught his hand. "We are not allowed to leave the school! And besides, how are you going to do it?"

"The letter may get lost, and we don't have time for that anyway, too much of it has been wasted already," Albus was determined to go through with his plan. "I'll go to Arabesky's office; he has a fireplace. I saw it when I served detention…"

"We are with you!" Marina and Alex said in unison, and the three of them looked at Bertie.

"Thank you," the girl whispered, clasping her hands. "But, Al, if you relatives are not willing…"

"Can someone explain why…?" Broon began, but Albus did not have time for explanations.

"Let's go, Arabesky is on the field already. We could be spotted by other teachers," the boy hurried along the corridor toward the familiar door.

"But aren't Hogwarts' fireplaces protected from breaking in?" Marin asked, trying not to fall behind.

"From breaking in – of course, yes," Alex laughed, "but from exiting, no. Especially, a professor's fireplace."

"Arabesky's office is bound to be locked," Bertie said hesitantly as they entered the hallway with the teacher's office. Al hoped that they would get lucky, to not have any other teachers show up here.

"No," Alex froze by the gray wall, close to the professor's office. "He is always running late for class – must be putting on his makeup – and closes the door with his wand alone…"

"And our wonderchild can certainly handle that," Marin finished her brother's sentence, looking at Albus touching his want to the door lock and whispering "Alohomora".

"What an oaf," Broon chortled, entering the study, which was horribly messy.

"He is cute," Marin could not help saying, closing the door behind the friends and looking around.

"Which does not stop his being an oaf," her brother had to have the last word, walking over to the fireplace. "So…?"

"I hope everyone is aware that we can be expelled for this?" Marin said, looking her friends over, a bit frightened. Albus was already scooping up Floo powder.

"He who is afraid can stay," Alex said decisively. He seemed to had been wanting to do something like this since his first day at Hogwarts.

"Someone is coming," Bertie blanched and shrank away from the door.

"Quickly, both of you!" Alex hissed, pushing Albus and Bertie into the fireplace. "Go to Diagon Alley! We'll meet there."

Albus nodded, grabbed Bertie's hand, and threw the powder.


	16. Part 1 - Chapter 8 - Single Combat

Chapter 8. Single Combat.

"Where have you been?!"

He barely entered the living room, erasing the pleased smile from his face, and Mother had already materialized next to him. Lying in wait for him, no doubt.

"Where have you been?" she was pale, as always, and was crumpling a handkerchief in her hand. Bawling again, wait till Father catches her at it…

"Went for a walk," he tried to hold back a derisive smirk.

"Where?"

"Can't remember," he waved her off, taking a glass and pouring Firewhiskey. He needs to relax, he has earned it today…

"Your father forbid you," she dared not slap his hands, as she had done thousands of times back then, "before"…

"He's not here to see it. What's new?"

"She called for you," growing sadder, which made him wince, said his mother. "Don't leave again before seeing her…"

A derisive smile crossed his thin, untanned face.

"What about the watchdogs?"

"Same," his mother shrugged her shoulders, visibly calming down. That's right, no need to meddle in his affairs. "Your father went to the hospital today. Maybe you ought to visit also…"

"What for?" he bristled. He has always hated the St. Mungo's, ever since he was a child. And he never forgot the several months he spent there a few years ago. Nor did he want to forget…

"You do know that…"

"Oh, I wish you just left him alone!" he growled, spilling what was left of the Firewhiskey as he set the glass forcefully on the table. "And pay more attention to her, instead."

"Son…," his mother's voice shook. It has been like that for a while, as though something in her broke then, four years ago. This he will not forget, either…

It is alright, Mother, it will all get better. Today he believed it fully for the first time.

"I'll see her."

"Fine," his mother smiled sadly. "If she… if…"

"Mum, it'll be okay," and he left the living room. He quickly crossed the foyer, went down the hall, and used the back stairs to reach the room that was now once again full of life.

Everything was back to normal here, as it was when she was always there with him. He would come in, sit at her feet and press against her knees, and she would a tad carelessly ruffle his hair with her slender fingers, speaking of something. He didn't even listen, reveling in the sound of her voice and in her touch.

That fall, everything changed: four years of emptiness, when he would come here and sit by the empty chair, hugging his knees for warmth. As though the light of his life had gone out, as though the idol he had worshipped was smashed, as though the meaning of his life had been taken away.

Since his earliest days, she was his everything. He didn't even know why. She would enter the room, and he stopped crying. He did everything she asked. She was the most beautiful, the most clever, she never made mistakes. She could easily punish any foe of his. She let him adore her and stay close, and in return, he would do anything for her. And her pain was his pain. And her enemies were his enemies, and he would kill those who took her from him. But she said "no, now is not the time", and he obeyed her. Like he always had.

And now this room, and his life, had light again. She was sat in her chair, looking at him with her beautiful, like snowflakes dancing in the wind, eyes. Her beauty did not fade – her parents assured that with tons of galleons spent to keep her. And her gaze was the same. For now… But he tried not to think of that, because he would fix everything, for he would do anything for her.

"Mother said you asked for me," he said, settling down by her tartan-covered feet, as always. She hemmed in response, and his lips twitched, as he recognised the expert role playing she always did. For now… He again waved off the unwelcome stray thought – now he would be able to help her.

"How are you?"

"What's new?" she asked into his ear. "Where have you been?"

This was not his mother's query that he could dismiss. This was her, and he must answer. Especially since she would not speak of herself, of what had been done to her…

"Tons of Ministry dogs running around," she shrugged his shoulders. "But no one knows about the tunnel."

"Well, of course, how would they..? Where did you go?"

He could tell her how they might know: besides the two of them there was another who had discovered the entrance to it out of deadly boredom. Yet, that man could not be mentioned in this room. Could not even thought of…

He kept silent, putting off the moment of his triumph.

"I can help you. I can now help all of you…"

"Meaning?" she was instantly on her guard, her fingers still in his hair.

"You shall be well again," he stood up with a slight smile, looking into her anxious face. She had always known how to hide her emotions, but several years of isolation affected her ability to do so…

"I am not ill!"

"You shall be as before; and so will he," he was not ready to disclose everything to her, but that marvelous moment would come soon.

"What. Did. You. Do?!" she stood up, tossing away the tartan.

"I? Nothing! Trust me, everything will turn out fine…"

"I forbid you!" her face was distorted by fury, which she did not even attempt to hide now.

"But…!"

"I forbid you to even think about it now!" she slapped him, making his ears ring. "What did you do?"

"I… I just want to help you!" he did not resist the second slap, which made him fall at her feet.

"You idiot!" she cried. "Don't you understand that they would send me back, to that place?!"

"No, wait! You…"

"Idiot!" she struck him again. "You are just an…!"

"Wait!" he raised his voice, trying to stand up. "I…"

"Fritz! Priscilla!" their mother ran into the room, alerted by the screaming. "What happened?"

"He would not come when I called," Priscilla said calmly, turning toward the window.

His mother glanced at him severely and walked to her daughter, putting an arm around her shoulders.

"Pris, darling, he just had some errands to run," Fritz smirked, getting to his feet. "Forgive your brother."

He would not come," the girl repeated, getting back in her chair and letting the tartan to be draped around her. "He…"

"Get out!" his mother hissed, clearly put out.

He nodded and walked out, rubbing his face, feeling lost at the strength of her ire. She simply did not understand that he was trying to help. She would know more and be glad…

And now he needs to think and plan carefully…

"Master Fritz," a house elf materialized next to him.

"What is it?"

Forgive me, but we have visitors…"

"Who?"

"Scorpius Malfoy and James Potter."

"What?" Fritz jumped, knocking down a flower vase off the stand. "And you let them in?!"

"No, they just showed up," the elf reported, looking confused. Fritz realized immediately that the thought of the tunnel and the third person who had found it was not idle. Malfoy had not forgotten his discovery…

"Tell them that…"

"We shall see them," his mother appeared next to them, looking anxiously at Fritz. "We have nothing to hide, do we, son?"

"You want to speak to these," his breath caught in his throat from hatred.

"Yes. Maybe that way I'll find out where you went today. Or will you tell me yourself?"

"It has nothing to do with them," Fritz grumbled, shrugging his shoulders. He now understood what his sister feared so much, but this time all would be well. They are helpless.

He even smiled, imagining Malfoy's helplessness. Oh, this is going to be fun…

He walked alongside his mother, smiling. He knew what he would do, how he would get his revenge on them and make her happy. He had planned it all already; now he just had to bid his time.

It would work. But first – the first act of the play, albeit not his.

He wiped the smile off his face and stepped into the living room.


	17. Part 2 - Chapter 1 - Lily Potter

Chapter 1. Lily Potter.

"How long do you think we have been here?" Lily broke the silence, because sitting still in the dark, squeezing together to fit in a narrow stone bench was becoming unbearable. Legs felt numb, arms cramped from the cold. And then they were simply scared…

"I don't know. A couple of hours, maybe a bit more," Xenia guessed, and moved a little, as though trying to stretch out. In the dark of the dungeon, the growling in Lily's empty stomach sounded absurdly comical. "Yes, must be more…"

The girls smiled. Lily was shaking with chills; she was hungry and thirsty. And she wanted to stand up and stretch her legs.

"Why did the Snare crawl away from the light?"

Xenia shrugged her shoulders.

"Not sure, but the light seemed odd. And the smell…"

Lily sniffed the air and only now detected a hint of smoke. Like from a campfire.

"Everything here is odd," she said. "If only we could get Jim's broomstick here…"

"I thought you were afraid to fly," Xenia's smile was apparent even in the dark.

"As Uncle George says, 'if you want to leave you'd trade your ear for a penny'."

Xenia hemmed and started to get up slowly:

"I can't remain seated any longer."

Lily, having listened to the silence around them, followed suit. Both girls warily looked at the ceiling of their prison cell, but nothing happened, except for pale and faint greyish smoke coming off it.

"You know, I believe I have found a positive element in our situation," Lily suddenly smiled, her arms hugging her shoulders, wrapping her cloak tighter around her.

"What, not having to cook Scorpius' dinner?" Xenia chuckled.

"Well, we have Dong, so… I just thought that Malfoy now has got a reprieve from telling his parents of our marriage…"

"Lily! That's it!" Xenia grabbed her friend's arm.

"What?"

"Dong!"

"Sorry?"

"You can try summoning Dong here! Or your father's house elf."

In her agitation, Xenia seemed to forget about the danger of sudden movements: the ceiling immediately lit up, and the rustling of multiplying Devil's Snare came from the floor.

"Dad's elf only obeys the Potters, and I am now a Malfoy," Lily said pensively, pressing against the wall. "Not sure if I can give orders to Dong…"

"Try it; I think Scorpius might have foreseen a situation such as this."

"But the Snare!"

"The elf will rescue you, don't worry."

Lily sighed and said in a slightly shaky voice:

"Dong, I want you!"

The elf Apparated almost at once; the girls heard him and for a few brief moments let themselves hope for a rescue.

"What ha…?" the elf began to say when at least three popping noises sounded, and they heard sounds of a tussle and someone hissed.

"Dong!" cried Lily, ready to rush to the aid of her little friend, but Xenia held her back, pointing at the luminescent ceiling. "Dong!"

Another popping sound was accompanied by brighter lights, and Lily squeezed her eyes shut at the revolting sound of the Devil's Snares slithering out of their cell.

"Order him to stand down or he dies."

Lily opened her eyes. The voice no longer seemed familiar, because of the harsh and cruel overtones. The girl glimpsed the Snare, disappearing beyond the bars, the overturned tray, and four rather big house elves holding Dong. One was holding a knife to the Malfoy's house elf's thin neck. Dong took in Lily and Xenia's frozen stance on the bench and his eyes widened in horror.

"Order him!"

Why won't he Apparate out of here, Lily thought in anguish, looking for the speaker and with a flash of fear realized that she could only see the disembodied hand holding a lantern.

"Give the order!"

The knife slowly pressed into the elf's neck. Why didn't he Disapparate instantly? Damn it, Merlin, because he couldn't. Because she did not order him, because she'd said that she wanted him! Lily opened her mouth to rectify her mistake, but the concealed (apparently under invisibility cloak and, Lily hoped, not of the Weasley making) kidnapper forestalled her:

"Should he Disapparate, my elves will follow him and finish what they must. Order him to not resist! Order him to obey me. And he shall not die."

"Dong," Lily even squeezed her eyes shut, as not to look the elf in the eye, "you must follow this man's orders," the girl finished sorrowfully, standing down from the bench. She couldn't bear the look of horror in the house elf's small face.

Dong slumped, looking sadly at the girls. Lily turned away, knowing to what she had just condemned Dong, but she didn't want him hurt! At least, they wouldn't kill him…

"What will you do to him?" she asked, looking past Xenia who was sitting down.

"Whatever I want," the invisible man hemmed. "I see you have met the other local inhabitants. I hope they didn't hurt you…"

Lily looked at in surprise at the spot next to the hand with the lantern.

"Inhabitants?"

The Devil's Snare," their tormentor clearly smiled. "Well, beware next time. I shall bring you more food. And now, I must away. Lots to do."

Lily saw the hand with the lantern float toward the exit, the door open and close.

"Oh, and one more thing," the man hidden under the cloak waited for his elves, with Don squeezed between them Disapparated. "Thank you for making it easier for me."

"Making what easier?" Lily asked anxiously, feeling icy cold wash over her in anticipation.

"Capturing a Malfoys' house elf and subduing him is no small feat. Thank you for doing it for me… Mrs. Scorpius Malfoy."

The light moved slowly away, accompanied by the slithering of the Snare. Soon silence once again enveloped the two girls.

"Poor Dong," Lily whispered, laying her head on her arms and closing her eyes. Look what she'd done again…

"Poor Scorpius," Xenia remarked bitterly, patting her friend's shoulder. "At least now we know that his man's target is indeed your husband…"

Lily nodded dejectedly: Scorpius' enemies were definitely after taking away his loved ones.

"How does this man know that Scorpius cares about Dong, in a way?" Lily asked, leaning against the wall.

"I have no idea," Xenia replied. "Did you notice the oddity?"

"Which one?"

"His voice changes. Sometimes it seems familiar, as though I'd heard it before. But more often it is completely alien."

"Yes, I have the same impression."

"So, either he changes it on purpose, to confuse us, or it has been a while since we heard it, and it changed timbre in the interim."

"Haven't heard it… since school, you think?" Lily guessed, trying to remember someone from school except Zabini, who could hold a grudge against Malfoy. "I don't know…"

"Besides, what's the use of knowing?" Xenia asked philosophically. "Whether or not we remember this man's voice will hardly make our circumstances any easier."

"Indeed," Lily was still thinking of Dong and Scor, who was bound to be going insane with worry. Could it really be that this man, so thoroughly disguising himself, was truly aiming to steal from Scorpius all he had learned to love?! Why?!

"If not Zabini, then who?" she could not sit silently, knowing that the man she loved was in agony right now. "And this Devil's Snare that he called "the inhabitants". Where are we?"

"I don't know," Xenia's voice was faint. "In Herbology, I paid more attention to medicinal herbs than killer plants."

"Hey, are you alright?" Lily was alarmed by how icy cold her friend's hand felt.

"Yes," Xenia squeezed her hand. "It's just that the wee Potter inside me is causing me discomfort… It is a family trait, it seems…"

Lily was speechless for several moments, before drawing Xenia into a fierce hug.

"Merlin! Does James know?"

"He is the only one who knew until now," the other girl grinned. "Not the best place for such news, this is…"

"All shall be well," Lily began rubbing her friend's hands, trying to warm them. They heard another popping sound, and a clanking of a dish against stone. "Well, dinner is served, it seems…"

"Lily."

"What?" the girl tried to set aside the thoughts of the peril in which Xenia and her unborn baby were. And how she had led them here…

"They will find us."

"I know," Lily smiled faintly. "The main thing is that we are together."

They ate, feeling tired and sluggish. Darkness and cold slowly sapped their strength and they soon slept in each other's arms. Lily didn't know how long they slept when they were awakened by the distinct sound of footsteps outside their cell.

Light flooded the room. The candlestick was held by the familiar house elf, who was clearly not alone, since an invisible hand unlocked the bars.

"Good morning. I trust you are well rested today," the man said mockingly. "And now I have to perform a slight reorganization. Mrs. Potter, I humbly request that you follow me… Only humbly requesting for now…."

The girls exchanged a glance.

"Where is Dong, and what have you done to him?" Lily was terrified of being left alone.

"He is right where I need him to be," the invisible man said, clearly happy with himself. "Let's go Xenia. I regret to say that you will no longer enjoy my hospitality…"

Lily, scared, gripped her friend's arm, but Xenia looked at her consolingly, patting her shoulder:

"Don't be afraid…"

"Your wand," their jailer said suddenly, and Xenia promptly took the wand that appeared out of thin air. "Don't do anything silly, you won't be able to get out of here on your own. And you will need your wand…"

Lily saw her friend's eyes narrow in contemplation. Xenia winked at Lily and hugged her.

"Don't worry, I am with you," the Healer whispered, and Lily momentarily felt the tip of the wand touch her head and a wave of warmth rolled through her body, making goosebumps run down her spine. "I am with you."

"How touching," the invisible man said caustically, his patience clearly wearing thin. "Let's go or I shall have to hurt you…"

Lily, biting her lip, watched Xenia walk out of the cell and, after a parting glance, move away, together with the lantern carried by a house elf. When darkness once again fell around the girl, she sank down on the bench and wept.


	18. Part 2 - Chapter 2 - James Potter

_**Chapter 2. James Potter.**_

He stood in the middle of the Zabini's parlor with a growing feeling that everything that was happening was but a nightmare, from which he just couldn't wake up. Because twenty four hours ago it would not have crossed his mind that this could happen again… That he would be once again fearing for the lives of his loved ones. That he would be running down a secret passage, looking at Malfoy's back, ram-rod straight, as though frozen in a seizure, and thinking whether they would be able to save…

Déjà vu? Perhaps, except last time Xenia was with him. And so was Theodic Mancilli, who as good as told them where to find Lily. Now it was just the two of them – him and Malfoy – up against an unknown, faceless enemy, whom they were hoping to give the name to – Zabini.

And so when Fritz walked in the room, James all but forced himself to believe that this was the end of the matter, that a bit longer – and they would see their wives, and pull them out of this stupid game with their past.

Potter peered into the younger Zabini's face, trying to tease out the truth, to convince himself that they had come to the right place. Because Fritz has changed since the last time they had the honor of seeing him. Back then he crashed the graduation party at Hogsmead, pale, gaunt, wild-eyed. He shrieked – his voice breaking often – blaming Malfoy for all his family's misfortunes. Back then that crushed boy was not capable of much more than waving his hands and screaming, prompting the Seventh Years to laugh at him.

And now? Is he capable of more now, when Priscilla was back home, she, who had always directed her younger brother's every thought and breath? Looking into Fritz's cold, collected face, James knew that he was. He knew that and believed that Xenia and Lily were somewhere close…

Zabini eyed his visitors coldly and even hatefully, but his chin was pulled up proudly. His arms were crossed, as though letting the unbidden guests know who was in charge.

"Scorpius, why are you here?"

Potter started, only now realizing that Fritz did not enter alone. Next to him was a shortish woman in a grey dress, her ashe-blonde hair put away into a net. Once, she must have been beautiful, like her daughter, but now, her cheeks sallow, her eyes puffy, as though she had cried recently, with deep groves around her mouth, she looked old and unwell. He voice was quiet but not without a challenge, which lacked in her a tad lost gaze.

"I wish to talk with Priscilla," Scorpius said. And James didn't let on his surprise. He had not thought much beyond getting here, of how they would get at the truth, but the very fact that Malfoy knew how to get into the house through the hidden passage, made him optimistic. Walking down the dark and chilly corridor, which, judging by a lack of cobwebs, was well-used, James mistakenly thought that they were traversing a path beneath the Zabini's ancestral home. However, it turned out that the passage merely led to a closet next to the parlor, bypassing the guards at the gate and at the entrance.

What would they want with Priscilla? Or did Malfoy Carry the Veritaserum?

"What makes you think that you can show up…?"

James hemmed at the bravado in Fritz's voice, but his mother, weak though she looked, made him stop with a wave of her hand. A strong woman, Potter suddenly realized; how hard must it have been on her, to lose almost all her children at once…

"Scorpius, what for?" Mrs. Zabini turned her gaze at Malfoy. "She has paid her debt to society. You know that. She is ill…"

"I have to speak with her," Malfoy insisted. "You know that I shall do it, even without your leave…"

James kept his eyes on Fritz, trying to decipher Malfoy's intentions. Judging by the conversation, his friend was well-known here. And Malfoy knew the house and the family just as well. Would it help them? And why are they here? Why did James, as much as he tried to make himself believe in the opposite, have a nagging feeling that rescuing the girls would not be as simple as this. Too plain, too obvious… Malfoy must realize this as well. But then why do they need Priscilla?!

"You will not get anywhere near her!" Fritz almost hissed, reaching for his wand. This chap clearly remembered what happened on his last day at Hogwarts. Potter, however, had other things on his mind than school memories, and he was not at all feeling sorry for this slightly unstable boy with dubious devotions…

"Fritz," chided her son Mrs. Zabini, who, it seemed, pondered Malfoy's words. "Fine, Scorpius, you may talk to her. For a few minutes. Remember, though: she is ill. And if she has an episode…"

"If she truly starts feeling ill, I shall leave," Malfoy promised immediately and, James realized, candidly. And he also thought that Malfoy must be empathetic to the Zabini's mother. Could that empathy be rooted in his childhood, the one Scorpius had before he, James Potter entered his life?

"Here, please," the woman motioned them into the hallway, with Fritz right on her heels. "I have to forewarn you: the house is equipped with detectors that go off at anything stronger than household spells."

If not for the situation, James would have chuckled: yes, people in this house knew Malfoy well, indeed. Oh well, they would figure out a way to make Zabini talk without magic. They have to!

Following down hallways and up some flights of stairs they reached the room illuminated clearly by a spell. It had to be magic, because the sun had long set, but the room was filled with light and warmth, like an incubator for sick hippogriff chicks that Gruff got into breeding after school. He even gave his classmates a tour once, and James and Malfoy almost laughed themselves sick at the idea that Richard had caught Potter's idea of breeding post owls. How long ago that was…

Unfortunately, he felt anything but a desire to laugh just now. And it was not a hippogriff chick, sitting by the window, reading a book.

She barely changed at all in the time that they had not had the pleasure of seeing her. Priscilla looked up at them, and her cold eyes narrowed momentarily – either in ire or some other unpleasant emotion. She shut her book and glanced at her mother, clearly awaiting an explanation. Fritz, shoving James with his shoulder, walked over to his sister's chair, as though prepared to shield her with his body.

"Priscilla, darling, Scorpius wishes to speak with you. Just please don't get vexed." Mrs. Zabini's voice was almost pleading. She glanced at Malfoy and stepped back. "I shall be in the hallway…"

She left, clearly uneasy to leave the four of them in the same room. James saw out of the corner of his eye that Fritz took out his wand, but Malfoy remained unperturbed.

"Priscilla, did you open a beauty salon while at Azkaban?" he asked sarcastically, thrusting his hands in his coat pockets. "Or launched a drama show, starring as a mentally unstable repenting sinner?"

"What do you want, Malfoy?" the girl ignored her brother who tried to say something.

"From you? Nothing," Scorpius said, and James once again felt stumped as to what exactly they were seeking here. "I simply decided to use the chance to express my delight at your prompt release…"

"Malfoy!" Fritz burst out, but went out like a light at his sister's glare.

"Malfoy, what do you want here? Or did you decide to walk your entourage?" Priscilla nodded condescendingly toward James. Potter would have taken exception to that, had his brain not been filled with concern for his wife and sister.

What are they doing here?

"Azkaban clearly affected your hearing," Scorpius remarked, taking out his wand, causing the younger Zabini to tense up again. "I don't need anything with you. I need your room."

Three of those present clearly understood Malfoy's meaning. But not James.

"What did you forget in our dungeons?" Priscilla asked, seemingly out of the blue, and Potter felt completely lost. All he had left was to rely on Malfoy, as usual.

His friend moved and walked over to the massive wardrobe in the corner of the room. The Zabinis followed him with their eyes, Fritz apparently wanting to stop him, Priscilla's silence holding him back.

"I was feeling bored, and I decided to tour the memorable places of my youth," Malfoy nodded, reaching out and feeling for something. Under James' confused gaze, the wardrobe started moving sideways, and in a few moments he saw a darkened passage. There they are, the dungeons. How convenient, indeed…

"Fine, go ahead," Priscilla's tone matched Malfoy's. "I have a feeling that you lost something… Or someone…"

Scorpius turned around and glanced coldly at Zabini. She smiled caustically at him.

"I think we shall take your brother with us," Malfoy said, motioning James over with a nod.

"What?!" Fritz even raised his wand, but his sister swatted his hand aside.

"Don't you dare casting spells in here!" she hissed. "Go with them."

"Pris!"

"I said: go," the girl pointed imperiously at the two chaps waiting at the entrance to the tunnel. "We have nothing to hide from them, and Malfoy's untimely death in our cellars would be highly undesirable right now…"

"Nobody would ever find him there," Fritz huffed, but walked reluctantly toward the wardrobe.

"He is resilient; he may crawl out," Priscilla remarked, as though she and her brother were not discussing anyone present. Malfoy didn't seem to care. "Have a nice stroll."

James let Fritz ahead, taking out his wand – just in case. After all, Malfoy usually knows what he is doing. Still, those Zabinis seem too calm…

Going down the winding staircase, James inadvertently remember a similar descent during his school days – the one where he ended up with broken legs… He did not want to repeat the experience, and following after Zabini who was practically emanated indignation gave him hope that they would make it down safe and sound.

"Malfoy, you…" Zabini finally dared to speak after a good five minutes of silence.

"Shut up and walk ahead," Scorpius ordered, and James seemed to catch a wave of his friend's wand hand.

"I hope that was not the Imperius," James said quietly.

"The very one. You can turn on the light," Malfoy replied.

Potter's wand lit up the small underground space where they ended up. Scorpius took the wand away from the Fritz's and tossed it aside.

"Listen, the Zabini's mother said…"

"We are deep beneath the surface; I doubt that the Ministry managed to get here with their detectors," Malfoy remarked, looking at Fritz. Zabini clearly was not putting up any resistance to the curse. "So, tell the truth, Zabini; I have no wish to dirty my hands with you again…"

James saw that the boy did not even try to protest – he merely nodded obediently, looking at the two friends with clouded eyes.

"Did you kidnap Lily and Xenia?"

James almost moaned aloud when Fritz shook his head.

"Tell the truth."

"No, I did not!" Zabini said in monotone.

"Do you know who did?" Scorpius persisted, unwilling to believe that they hit a dead end.

"No."

"Are they in this house or beneath it?"

"No."

"When and where did you see them last?"

"Two months ago, at the Diagon Alley," Fritz said dutifully.

James and Scorpius exchanged glances.

"Do you know anything about them?" Malfoy made the last-ditch attempt.

"Of course…," James' heart lurched. "Lily Potter is Harry Potter's daughter, and the sister of James Potter…"

"Oh, shut up!" Scorpius waved his wand. "Forget all I asked you and return to the room."

They stood alone in the gloom.

"What shall we do now?"

"I don't know. Go home, for now," said Malfoy, putting away his wand. "To our place. We'll see, once we are there."

It took them five minutes to leave the Zabini's home without a word and Apparate to the alley near Lily's and Scorpius' house. They silently mounted the stairs and stopped dead in their tracks.

"What the…?"


	19. Part 2 - Chapter 3 - Rose Weasley

_**Chapter 3. Rose Weasley.**_

They stood in the middle of a narrow street, sparsely lit by the few street lights. They could hear a distant motor running, people laughing. Chilly wind gusted from tall, freshly snow-covered mountains. In the distance, at the foot of the mountains and above, they saw rare lights of the human dwellings, to which led a narrow road.

"It appears we have arrived," Rose pointed at a three-story building, with brightly lit windows and the English sign reading "The Burrow" blinking invitingly, casting glow on the parking lot and the benches before it.

Rose looked back anxiously at Theo. He squeezed her hand in encouragement and nudged her toward the entrance. She smiled tightly, opened the glass door and entered the warm and well-lit foyer, preceded by the tinkling of the doorbell. Almost instantly, a smiling young girl materialised behind the counter and said in flawless English:

"Welcome to The Burrow. How may I help you?" she looked over the anxious-looking couple who were glancing around them, seemingly in search of something or someone. "Would you like to check in?"

"We are looking for Ronald Weasley," Rose said, her voice breaking a little in the end; it had been so long since she said that name out loud.

"Oh! Mr. Peter warned me that someone might be coming…"

"Mr. Peter?" Rose glanced at Theo in surprise, but he watched unperturbed as the girl picked up an object and put it to her ear. Rose, who was close to her grandfather and also rather well-read knew that this was the Muggle telephone – a devise for communicating remotely. The girl said something into the receiver, probably in Bulgarian, and smiled again at the visitors:

"Mr. Peter is expecting you. To your left and down the hall, please."

"Excuse me, but we want Ronald Weasley," Rose was beginning to think that they had come to the wrong place.

"Yes-yes, Mr. Peter is expecting you," the girl insisted, pointing to the door.

"Let's go," Theo put his arm around Rose's shoulders. They hurried across the foyer – Rose's hands were shaking. Who is Mr. Peter? Could it be Father's new alias? She could not think straight in her agitation. And she was afraid that they were too late. What happened to Dad? What is he doing here?

"If your father was in harm's way, this young woman would not be smiling so," Theo remarked calmly, as though reading her thoughts. Rose was not surprised: they could easily know each other's mind; for that, they needed no magic.

At the end of the hallway they saw a wide-opened door: the small and well-lit room had a coffee table surrounded by chairs, a bookcase filled with books, and a portrait of a woman on the wall, which did not move. Everything in the room identified its inhabitant as a Muggle, save for the owl that Rose recognized. The bird slept, its head tucked under its wing.

"Hello, Rose."

The girl started as she stepped into the room. An old man of small stature rose from the chair to greet them. His hair was completely white, and his eyes bright blue. He smiled warmly at his guests.

"Do you know me?" Rose hoped until the last moment that they would finally see her father, but there was no one else in the room. Her anxiety grew: why isn't Dad here? "We…"

"You are looking for your father; yes, I know," the old man shook Theo's hand. "Peter MacDall, or simply Mr. Peter. I am the inn's manager."

"This is…," the girl turned toward her friend.

"Theodic Mancilli," Mr. Peter finished for her. "Your father has told me."

"Where is he? What is wrong with him?" Rose finally got out the question that was on her mind. "He wrote that…"

"He lives high in the mountains," the old man replied, motioning for his visitors to sit down, "and you need a break before Apparating there… Yes, I am a wizard, albeit not a very talented one," Mr. Peter laughed at Rose's astonishment. "The only one for miles, save your father and Sarah…"

Rose looked down: it had skipped her mind that her father was living with another woman. She feared for him and longed to see him so much that she had all but forgotten about Sarah.

"Why does he need a Healer?" Theo would not sit. Rose knew that he was eager to reach whoever needed his help (Xenia was the same way, judging by her skipping out on her own wedding reception).

"Not him," Mr. Peter's eyes grew abruptly sad. "Our Sarah is very ill, and other healers have given up on her. You know… Our kind does not look too kindly on werewolves…"

"You know that too?" Rose was easy for the first time since she received the owl. He was alive and safe, not in any immediate danger. And she would see him presently; after all, he was so close.

"I know almost everything about him," the old man took his wand out of his pocket, and a couple of moments later a tea tray appeared on the table before them. "Have some tea, and I shall take you to their house."

"Right now," Theo's eyes were on Rose, letting her know that he did not need tea or rest or anything else, if a patient needed his care. She was just as unwilling to postpone the reunion with her father. "Let's go."

Mr. Peter shrugged his shoulders and got to his feet.

"As you wish… Only it is very cold out there," the old man took a parka off the coat rack in the corner and glanced longingly at the blazing fireplace. "Oh! We get them some supplies; they should not venture out in this storm, and the full moon is drawing near…"

Mr. Peter motioned for them to follow him and, as she stood up, Rose saw a small back door that led into the back yard, with the backdrop of the snowy mountains, half-hidden as though by the mist.

"Blizzard," Mr. Peter muttered, taking two baskets out of the niche in the wall. Theo took one from him, and looked at the old man for further directions. "Rose, give me your hand; I shall guide you, lest you miss your destination and get buried in the snow. Your father would never forgive me… Theodic, hold on to Rose… Ready?"

In the moments it took them to Apparate, Rose felt nauseated – the long journey took its toll. When she was finally able to draw breath, she choked up – because of the snow that instantly filled her nose and mouth.

"Quick, under the awning," she heard Mr. Peter's voice through the wind and the rustling of snow, as he pulled her forward. Only then did she see the contours of the half snow-covered one-story cabin and a dim light in one of the windows.

As soon as Rose found herself under the awning, next to stacked firewood, a wheel barrow and gardening tools, she vigorously brushed the snow off her clothes. Theo appeared next to her – a cap of snow topped his black hair.

"Let's go?" smiled Mr. Peter, moving aside a small snowdrift and opening the massive front door. They were instantly enveloped in the warmth and the aroma of wood-burning fireplace and chicken noodle soup.

Rose took a step forward and her heart raced in her chest. This was his home, her father's home. He is here, he is close, as she fantasised for four years….

"Ron!" called out Mr. Peter, wiping his feet before entering the living room from the small foyer where the three of them were crowded. The fireplace lit the room, showing well-worn but very cozy furniture, books, chess set on the coffee table, a doll house and a big grey cat sleeping curled up in the chair.

From somewhere in the house came the sound of footsteps, the door clicked quietly, and a dark silhouette appeared in the doorway just as Rose and Theo entered from the opposite side.

"Daddy," the girl breathed: she could not but recognize the lanky form. She hugged her father, powerless to stop the flow of tears as they fell onto the old, knit by Grandma Molly, maroon jumper. Ron stroked her snow-soaked hair and kissed the crown of her head, the way he often did when she was a little girl. His big hands trembled slightly; his heart thumped against her ear. He smelled harshly of some potion, which made Rose smile unexpectedly: just like her Theo.

"Theo…," she forced herself away from her father and turned toward her friend.

"Theodic," the young man extended his hand.

"Ron," her father said curtly, shaking the Healer's hand. His other hand was still around his daughter. "Thank you for coming here…"

"Daddy…" Rose raised her eyes to her father's face, still hard pressed to believe that he was here, and well. He was thinner now, but still himself, save for a multitude of small scars marring his face and hands; and for the look in his eyes: a bit different…

"I shall leave the baskets in the kitchen, Ron. And whip us up something quick to eat, I think…" Mr. Peter remarked softly. "If you need me, holler."

"Where is Sarah?" Theo seemed to ignore the old man's words as he disappeared down the hallway behind him.

"Let's go," Ron pointed at the door from whence he had come. "She is hardly ever conscious anymore…"

Rose heard despair and pain in her father's voice – he was never good at hiding his feelings. He loves her and he loves Sarah. The girl sighed deeply, covering up, even from herself, the feelings of jealousy and disdain she should have long conquered by now, and followed her father and Theo. He loves her; therefore, she must be a remarkable person. She, Sarah, has been with her father all these years. And Rose is grateful…

Ron opened the door into a small, warm room, and Rose's eyes immediately fell onto the bed where lay a very pale and thin woman. Sarah could not be above thirty, which shocked Rose a little. Sweaty hair was plastered against Sarah's high forehead; her dry lips were slightly open. There were scars on her face as well.

Theo walked around Rose and Ron, opening his suitcase.

"Wait in the living room," he said shortly.

Ron nodded. Silently, they returned to the room filled with the crackling of fire in the fireplace. Rose didn't know what to say, because she knew that her father was really in the other room now, with that sick woman. She, too, had trouble focusing on anything else at the moment.

"Hardly changed at all," Ron was looking at his daughter, smiling slightly. "And looking so much like _her_…"

These words brought it home to Rose that, despite his last four years with Sarah, her father never forgot them. Or Mother… She felt abruptly easier about looking him in the eye and talking to him.

"Hugo now favours Uncle George a lot, although not in personality," the girl smiled, sitting down on the couch next to her father and looking at him. "That he must have gotten from Grandpa Arthur…"

"How is Dad?"

"Well, you know him: even in retirement he is still crazy about Muggles," Rose laughed lightly. "He has a new idea fixe: to put together a com-pu-ter that would do the cooking on its own… As the result, the kitchen at The Burrow now looks like a workshop, which Aunt Audrey is not too thrilled about. A couple of times a week someone is bound to find a metal part in their soup…"

They grew silent, looking at each other. Rose felt as though, just for a moment, this strange house filled with the coziness of The Burrow, the comfort of the time long gone, the time before this house. But only for a moment…

"How are you, Daddy?" the girl peered intently into her father's face.

"Not bad, as you can see," he motioned around the room. "Living."

"Do you work?" she knew that they were making small talk, but talking of something else, something serious meant hurting him anew. That he would hurt she knew after his words of how she favoured Mother.

"You could say I don't," a shadow of the familiar smile ghosted his lips. "Peter is managing our inn."

"This is your inn?" Rose asked in amazement.

Ron nodded. Another pause ensued. As though they were grasping desperately for things to talk about, while avoiding touchy subjects.

They started when Theo entered the room. He was toweling his hands dry.

"How is she?" Rose's father stood up immediately, his anxious gaze on the Healer.

"Not well," Theo glanced at Rose, as though addressing her alone. "She needs to be transferred to our house. There I can help her. Not here."

Rose held his gaze, knowing that Theo was, in fact, talking to her. Asking for her permission. Father's eyes were on her, too.

"Of course, but can she Apparate?" Rose nodded at Theodic.

"She is weak, but the sooner she is there, the quicker I can treat her," Theo handed the girl her cloak and a bottle filled with a potion. "I gave her a strengthening potion; it will help. You ought to take some also. Mr. Weasley?"

Father nodded tersely and hurried out; Theo followed him after smiling encouragingly at Rose. The girl had no idea what they were getting themselves into, as she held on desperately to one thought: Mum and Uncle Harry had gone. She downed the potion in one gulp.

Mr. Peter promised to look after the house and the cat. They got ready in five minutes. Father held Sarah, wrapped in blankets, in his arms.

The way back took more time, because Theo made an extra stop. He was tired too, but he could not rest, for he was in a hurry. After each leg of the journey he stopped to examine Sarah.

It was sunrise in England, when they appeared at their house. Cold wind chased newspaper pages down the still deserted street.

"Inside," Theo said curtly, waving his wand to remove the shield. Rose was about to remind him that in their haste, they had forgotten to put the Protective Charms on, when her father froze in his tracks and said in a startled voice:

"Bertie?"

Rose followed her father's eyes: sat on their porch, wrapped in her Hogwarts cloak, was a sleeping girl.


	20. Part 2 - Chapter 4 - Xenia Verdi

_**Chapter 4. Xenia Verdi.**_

The stone vault never ended – it extended sharply upward, as thought they were at the bottom of a well, with a winding staircase to lead them out. Oddly for a dungeon, it was too dry here; something akin to sand rustled beneath their feet. Well, it least it wasn't the Devil's Snare…

She followed after the stranger, without hearing the sound of footsteps or the rustling of retreating Snare, or any other noises of the dungeon. Because she was still there, down two twists of stairs, at the dead end of the long corridor, with the now weeping Lily.

Xenia walked, stepping carefully and gripping her wand. When they stopped at the foot of the stairs, too tall for them to see the top, the girl raised her weapon, still unsure of what she should do.

"Don't do anything stupid," the kidnapper snapped, still invisible, although Xenia sensed the movement of air and even heard his breathing as they started up the steep stairs. "Even if you knock me out right now, you won't make it out of here: my elves are everywhere.

The girl smirked, sweeping her hair out of her eyes: someone did not have to work hard to read thoughts. Their opponent was astute, indeed. Yet, he had done one misstep, and now Xenia was mentally linked to Lily. Like she and James once were. It worked once, and she hoped that it would help this time around, although she was still in the dark as to their destination and purpose.

"Why are you hiding all the time?" Xenia managed another flight of stairs and asked herself how deeply under the ground were they: the staircase was long, yet they were still surrounded by stone walls, and not earth, despite the lengthy ascent already. And where are they?

"I would not want to reveal myself, it would give away the game," the invisible man replied, almost cheerfully. "Although…"

"And what game are you playing?"

"Oh, that's a good question," he chuckled without stopping. "It is rather hard to explain, and the setting is not fitting for that."

"The setting was of your own choosing," Xenia reminded him, beginning to tire of the long ascent. She now understood why this man had preferred to Apparate to their cell.

"Well, you have almost changed it. Careful now, don't bump your head."

She wanted to laugh at such concern for her well-being: as if this man had not held her and Lily prisoners in a stone cell deep below the surface. And poor Lily was still there.

She bent her head to fit through the doorway, low and uneven, as though hewn indifferently. They entered a small room, again without windows, with a low ceiling. Several torches burned on the walls.

"Where are we?"

"Unfortunately, I cannot give you the answer," the man's politeness almost made Xenia forget that she was his prisoner. But the feeling was fleeting, for as soon as they came in she was surrounded by three house elves with markedly unfriendly demeanors. "Go on in, I'll be right there…"

The elves nudged Xenia forward, and she noticed another door before her just as one of the elves touched it with one long finger. Beyond was what looked like a vacant room: a small space with one shuttered window. A tattered, dusty rug covered the floor; two chairs and a table were pushed against the wall, out of the way. The entire space by the opposite wall was taken up by rows of twine-bound sacks.

Xenia glanced at the elves who were watching her closely, then took a step toward the sacks. The house elves remained put. Then the girl crossed the room more surely and approached the opposite wall.

"Don't touch."

She started and turned around, to see for the first time the visage of the man who had kidnapped them. It was definitely him, since she could not help but recognize his voice.

He was half a head taller than her, with dark-blonde hair almost covering his ears. His eyes, plum-colored and slightly slanted, did not reflect light. A slightly pointed chin and turned-up nose. Xenia looked at him with a feeling that the man's face was literally composed of bits and pieces: the separate features did not seem to fit together into a cohesive structure, as though each one was part of another face. A strange bloke, whom she had definitely never seen before.

"Why did you decide to show yourself to me now?" Xenia folded her arms, aware that she was being taken in. This was definitely not the man's real face. This was something worth thinking about.

"Because you are leaving me," the man smiled, waving to the house elf, who hurried toward the sacks. A couple of snaps of those elongated fingers – and the sacks vanished, leaving behind the strange smell: dust and smoke.

"Why do you want Lily?" Xenia was eager to learn something, anything about her friend's fate – she was almost certain that whatever lay in store for her was much easier than what awaited Lily, if only because Xenia was not originally the object of abduction.

"She is the trump card in this game," the young man – he looked about twenty five, although, Xenia supposed, that might be false as well – leaned against the wall, appearing quite at his leisure; as though he was waiting for something or someone.

"Game?"

"Well, you could call it something else, but that would not change the essence," he shrugged his slim shoulders. "Don't fret, however: when the time comes, she too will leave this place."

Xenia did not know what to say to this: this man fascinated and frightened her at the same time.

"What did Malfoy do to you?"

She touched a nerve: the man's strange eyes flashed; he straightened, staring at the girl. He seemed to be pondering how much to say and how much to hold back.

"He took the woman I loved from me."

Xenia stared, a bit startled: a woman?

"Lily?"

The kidnapper relaxed once again; a smirk flitted across his face.

"You are not interested in learning your own fate, are you, Xenia Potter?"

"I am about to know it, am I not?" Xenia was not about to betray her fear or anxiety to this man.

"Of course," the man glanced at his wrist watch: the dark bracelet reflected candle light. "Unfortunately, not everyone in this world is punctual…"

Xenia did not reply, turning away: she was feeling faint. This was normal, known to happen, as she was well aware. There, down below, she had made her choice with hardly a second thought.

She was a healer, her calling helping people. She knew almost everything about the upsides and downsides of mental techniques; she knew all there was to know about mental links capable of saving lives and ending them.

Yet, could she have done differently?! She did not have time to consider and weigh her decision; she did what she had to do to give Lily a chance at being rescued. And if the mental link would help with that, then it would be worth everything…

"You are pale. Would you like to have some tea before your departure?"

Xenia grinned, almost ready to laugh. No tea would help her, because every time she felt Lily, read her mind, her strength would wane a little. And, more horribly, not only hers…

Forgive me, my darling…

It was as though she went back in time, standing before Grandfather's deathbed, seeing his calm face framed by grey hair. Hearing him speak to her in a soft voice of duty, of the prophecy, of her gift. Of her strength. Of how difficult it would be for her, for she was called to save others, not herself. He trusted that, when faced with a choice, she would always think first of others, then of herself. And she always strove to do that, never wavering. Yet now, knowing that she had done what she had to do, Xenia still agonized over the question: had she done the right thing? After all, this time she risked not herself or, rather, not only herself…

She bit her lip, forcing herself to believe that she had been right. Perhaps everything would resolve soon without resorting to the link. What if, right now, in a couple of minutes, James and Scorpius would burst in the room, and everything would be over. She wanted so badly to believe that…

She started when her kidnapper spoke again:

"I have to leave you for a spell; I think I'd better greet the visitor myself…"

Xenia wanted to ask who was the visitor, but she stopped herself: she would know soon enough…

The man nodded at the house elves and left out the door, which almost blended with the wall.

Why didn't he reveal himself earlier, knowing as he did that they did not know him? Or would not recognize…

Xenia reached out to Lily for a few seconds: she was in the dark, poor thing. She feared. And she loved.

Xenia hoped fervently that this love that burnt so brightly in Lily's heart would keep her from despair. Because otherwise, this could never end well…

The girl walked over to the closed window, thinking of her husband. Where is he? He must be searching high and low for them. It's good that Malfoy is with him… Her cousin is good at keeping a cool head. Although in this case Xenia could allow for any possibility, because Lily, by teaching Scorpius to love, also made him vulnerable. Just like Rose made Theo vulnerable…

Theo, that's who could help her. He could help her keep up her strength. And maintain the link when her strength ran out. He, stronger than her at mental techniques, could lighten the load that Xenia had taken upon herself. If only she could get out and ask Theo for help!

The girl hugged herself, looking down at the floor, covered by the strange grey sand, crunching under her feet.

She so badly wanted to believe that James and Scorpius would find them. Malfoy did not have many enemies capable of something like this. They have to find them. Perhaps right this minute they are approaching…

Thinking thus was easier than giving in to helplessness or panic, and Xenia tried to believe it, tried to reassure herself with that thought. Help is near, and her decision to link herself to Lily mentally will not matter…

She wanted to believe it so badly that her spirits soared momentarily when the door opened behind her. Xenia was ready to turn around and see her husband and her cousin.

She stepped back at the sight of the young man before her. She knew him, although it had been a while since she saw him last. She remembered those eyes, full of boundless pain, and terror, and fear, and entreaty. She remembered them, as though it had been yesterday, because she had to treat the consequences of what Scorpius had done.

She did not even need to close her eyes to see, as though in reality, the room at Hogwarts, its stone floor stained with blood. It seemed filled with pain; Xenia felt it as she and Theo were kneeling to try to give at least some relief to the boy with plea and terror in his eyes and the girl who staunchly refused to acknowledge her pain.

Before Xenia stood Fritz Zabini.


	21. Part 2 - Chapter 5 - Scorpius Malfoy

_**Chapter 5. Scorpius Malfoy.**_

He had to muster all his strength now to remain himself.

He could have run away, eyes squeezed shut, pushing away what he'd seen, pushing away fright and terror that threatened to envelop his soul, the soul that ever more often now harbored the new, previously unfamiliar feelings.

He could have turned away, eyes squeezed shut, capturing what he'd glimpsed, without detail, without introspection. Turn and run away, which was, really, just a slight variation on the first option.

He could have run amok, letting loose all the feelings raging now in his heart; the feelings that can't and shouldn't be there.

He could have simply taken out his wand and solved all the problems with a single swipe. Except, as he well knew, this would be but an illusion of resolution. Nothing would really change.

And that was why he didn't even need to think about what to do. He knew it already.

While Potter stood in the doorway, eyes bulging, mouth opening and closing by turns, Scorpius stepped inside the flat, deliberately and meticulously inspecting what was left of it. So that he would remember, so that he would understand, so that he wouldn't miss anything. Everything else would have to wait.

Blackened, Fiend-Fire-scorched walls. Ashes. Furniture carcasses, also blackened. Air, filled with smoke and soot, hard to breathe. The ceiling, covered with black splotches, as though licked in passing by the flames. Broken and melted glass from picture frames crackling underfoot. Scorched wooden coffee table, powdered with ash. Candlesticks next to what was left of the chest of drawers.

He halted by the only whole item in the room. Left whole by design, Scorpius realized it, for the fire that melted glass could hardly have spared the old rocking chair. Her chair. Sitting in it was the old soft cat, which his wife had been refusing to discard, despite it being so tattered that it was painful to look at.

James, somewhat recovered from the shock, appeared behind him. He stood next to Scorpius, also staring at the chair and the cat that looked so out of place here. It seemed particularly creepy against the scorched room backdrop.

"Well, I take it that we can rule out the possibility of you forgetting to douse the fireplace," Potter said, scattering the heavy air and equally heavy thoughts that were now moving calmly through Scorpius' mind. "I'll go look at the rest…"

Malfoy nodded, his eyes still on the toy. He didn't feel like moving or going anywhere. Where? His home, this warm and inviting place where for several years he'd been so happy, had been taken from him.

Malfoy forced himself out of the inane sentimentality, which was definitely not appropriate now. He had to act, to think, to decide.

"Potter, what have you gotten there?" he didn't want to go into the kitchen or the bedroom without a pressing need, to see more of the same. Yet, something told him that the need would present itself. In a way, this was a cause for optimism – he was beginning to feel his opponent, to predict his moves.

"Of course, you probably shouldn't go in there," the pale James re-entered the room, if it could still be called that. His hands were covered with soot, which didn't surprise Scorpius for a second: his mate could get dirty without trying at all, his memorable journeys through fireplaces a testament to that. "But you must…"

Malfoy nodded and strode toward the door to his and Lily's bedroom. Something crunched and rustled beneath his soles, but the chap forced himself not to look at what he was walking on; because he knew that what he walked on were the remnants of the former, happy life. Those thoughts were not the right ones for him to have; not now.

The fire must have burnt hotter here, because even the ceiling was scorched. The chandelier that Lily and he had picked out together lay on the floor, a black lump of melted plastic and metal. The furniture had disintegrated. The room was very hot.

Scorpius stopped in the spot where his and Lily's bed had stood. In the midst of densely packed ash lay something blackened, but definitely body-shaped. A small body, almost like that of child. One could make out the arms, the legs. The big ears.

James touched Scopius' shoulder and he smirked. He is not going to go into hysterics – he had been through worse in his life. For some reason he recalled his grandfather's empty room, as he saw it upon his return from school. Lucius Malfoy was gone, and the room was void, like a book cover with the pages ripped out. Now Scorpius Malfoy was feeling something similar, and it was a hard feeling to describe.

He stood, looking at the body of his house elf, who had been with him since early childhood. Malfoy was not going to indulge in sappy recollections – no time and no desire, really. He simply wanted to stay still, so that he could remember this feeling, to imprint it inside like a brand. So that he would pay it all back in full measure to whoever was responsible for taking from him the people he loved.

James' hand forced him to turn toward the opposite wall, where, atop the black soot stood out the white inscription: "Now what, Malfoy?"

Scorpius bent down suddenly, grabbed the destroyed chandelier and sent it flying into the wall with the white words that were now pounding out the challenge inside his head. The sharp crashing sound echoed through the black, almost empty room.

"Potter."

"Yeah?"

"Stay close."

James didn't ask any questions – simply nodded, staring in slight fright at the body of the house elf.

Yes, you understood correctly: you could be next. Even you, the naïve and guileless James Potter, could grasp the uncomplicated logic of what was happening. Someone had decided to take from him, Scorpius Malfoy, everything he held dear. Everyone.

"How did he get here?"

Malfoy walked out of the bedroom and headed for the kitchen, where he was met with the same picture as in the living room. Only now it occurred to Scorpius that he had not eaten in almost twenty-four hours, but he still did not feel like eating. He went to the blackened sink – the metal was still hot – opened the spigot and leaned towards the thin stream of water that was now slowly making a clean trail across the bottom of the sink. He drank, thinking.

"Lily," Scorpius finally answered his friend's question. They returned to the living room.

"Lily?"

"The three of us are the only ones with access to this flat. Even Xenia does not know the counter-spell," Scorpius reminded James, walking over to the wall and waving his wand to remove the soot.

"She wouldn't!"

"Potter," Malfoy snorted, - "if they threatened her with harming her family, she would. You know your sister…"

James nodded reluctantly. Scorpius knew what he was talking about: his wife always feared for those she loved. It was not difficult to manipulate her by exploiting that fear.

"Maybe she managed to leave behind a message of some sort, if she were here?"

"Not likely," Malfoy shrugged his shoulders as he exposed the concealed lock and opened the safe hidden within the wall. Everything was in place: documents, gold, their papers. Scorpius could hear James wandering around the flat, clearly still hopeful of finding something besides Dong's body. They should give the house elf a proper burial, but that was not the priority now.

Why didn't he leave? Why wouldn't he save himself? Because he did not have a direct order? That was stupid and Dong had never been that…

Malfoy collected money and the papers, put them neatly into the summoned bag, re-locked the safe, and looked around at what, mere hours ago, had been his home.

"Let't go, Potter."

"We…," his friend looked over the room. "You…"

"This was controlled Fiend Fire, so the place is no longer habitable," Scorpius said calmly, knowing what James meant. He wanted to add that he would not want to live here any longer, but didn't.

"Where to now?" Potter followed his friend into the corridor which bore no traces of the fire, except for the smoke that began seeping out of the open door. This alone was a clue to the magic nature of the fire; it stopped immediately upon having destroyed the Malfoys' flat. Someone put it out.

"To the Ministry," Scorpius went down the steps – he was busy thinking of who else was in danger, due to their connection with him. His parents. They were not easy to get to, however, although warning them might be a good idea.

That was all.

"It is good that Albus is at school," James said suddenly, when they were almost to the alley from which they usually Apparated.

Malfoy froze, staring at his mate in surprise:

"What does this have to do with your brother?"

"Only that, should you care to remember, the photo of you and him appeared on the front page of the _Daily Prophet_", Potter reminded him saucily, wrapping his cloak around him. "And that he broadcast his love for you to the entire country…"

Damn! True, that had happened. The photo and a small article about the heir of the ever growing Malfoy fortune being spotted at the Diagon Alley with the youngest son of Harry Potter was published last summer and caused a brief stir in high society, and but a smirk on the face of the said heir.

In reality, there was a whole crowd of them there that day, including even the former prefect Weasley and a couple of Potter's daft cousins, but Albus Severus had chosen that very moment to drag him off to see the hippogriff exposé in the park. And Malfoy agreed – against his own better judgement. That was where they were photographed, and the four-eyed Potter happily informed the reporters of his fiery devotion to Scorpius. Yes, back then it seemed funny…

"Hopefully, your brother is not too much like you and does not run away from school," Scorpius muttered uneasily. Merlin, yes! He was worried about that strange human being with candy-sweetened palms and oh so sweet-looking physiognomy.

How could this happen on his watch?!

He pushed those feelings away. The four-eyed Potter was at Hogwarts now. That left only three targets: Potter and Scorpius' parents.

And Lily and Xenia whose fate was so far unclear.

"Do you think they are alright?" James was looking at Scorpius, their wives clearly on his mind as well.

"Brutal though it may sound, Potter, but as long as we do not have their dead bodies," Malfoy momentarily recalled Dong, lost to him forever now, "we can be sure that they are all right. So, let's get going…"

They Apparated to the entrance to the Ministry of Magic. This time they were not laughing and joking about the descent into the Atrium, what with all the loos and flushing. They weren't in the mood.

"We need the Department of Magical Transportation," Malfoy nodded curtly at the guard as their wands were being registered. They got their badges that, as usual, they stuffed in their pockets, and the two friends hurried towards the elevators.

"Hello, James."

They turned around – approaching them was a tall wizard wearing an Auror cloak.

"Mr. Tuba," Potter nodded, letting his father's former colleague through to the elevator, and following him inside.

"Why are you here?"

"An urgent matter," James glanced at Scorpius, who nodded discreetly: they could use all the help they could get now. The sooner they knew, the better, because so far they were always lagging behind.

The unknown enemy had won the first round: he'd known that they would go visit the Zabinis, giving him a perfect window of opportunity for burning down Malfoy's house.

What next? Has he thought about the possibility of Malfoy going to the Ministry?

"Oh, you would get buried in paperwork," Malfoy heard Tuba's voice. "A ton of permits and explanations as to why you need that information…"

"I know, but we really need it and ASAP," James replied.

"Really need it, eh?" the Auror had clearly discerned the stress in James' face. "All right, follow me."

Scorpius smirked at his mate behind the wizard's back. The three of them crossed the hall.

"Wait here," Tuba strode into the room with the plain sign "Magical Transportation Information".

"It is good to be a son of Harry Potter," Malfoy remarked, happy that at least this once it worked to their advantage. Although, were it possible for him to have a rational conversation with his father, the today's Draco Malfoy would not have had any problems in obtaining this information either.

Three silent minutes ticked by in tense anticipation. Finally Mr. Tuba came out into the hallway and handed the friends a piece of parchment with even rows of names and addresses.

"This is the list of persons who obtained a permit for creating a portkey on the day you wanted. Both obtained the permit _and_ created a portkey," Tuba smiled.

The chaps thanked the Auror, who hurried off to work. Then they peered at the list. Scorpius was sure that they would not find anything, because the person who was taunting them was clearly no fool.

"Opa…," said James, pointing to the very end of the list. Malfoy looked, and his blonde eyebrows shot up.

Number twenty nine read "Greg Gregory".


	22. Part 2 - Chapter 6 - Albus Potter

Chapter 6. Albus Potter.

James always said that if an endeavor did not start well, it wasn't worth proceeding with. It was his favourite rationale for staying in bed on a rainy day.

Yet now, for some reason, his brother's words popped up in Albus' head. Could it be because James was a pro at this kind of escapes from school and from home, and he knew what he was saying?

"Where _are_ they?" Bertie looked frightened as she scanned the Fireplace Hall on Diagon Alley, inching closer to her friend. They stared at the fireplaces, still hoping that Brun and Marin would appear in one of them at any moment. As moments ticked by, Albus became more convinced that this was not going to happen. "You don't think that they were…?"

Al shrugged: it was quite likely that their friends did not have time to jump into the fireplace and were now standing before one of the professors. A pang of conscience – it was him, after all, who dragged them into this forbidden venture – quickly faded as the youngest Potter noticed the undisguised interest with which the few patrons of the Fireplace Hall eyed the two of them. No wonder! They are…

"Bertie, take off your cloak," Albus whispered, doing the same. They should have done it earlier, how could they forget… "Let's go, they will not come."

Bertie nodded, biting her lip, and followed the boy. It was not exactly hot outside, especially without their cloaks, but Albus was not too concerned about it now. His focus was on getting to his family.

"All, maybe…"

He smiled encouragingly at Bertie, took her cold hand, and pulled her into a side street off the Diagon Alley, where they would not be ogled by the passers-by. All they needed was to be caught and sent back to school. No, siree! Albus was resolved to reach his friends the Healers and help Bertie's mum. Isn't he a Potter?! And he does not want Bertie to lose her mum because of werewolves. Or for any other reason. Everyone must have a mum…

"What shall we do?" the girl turned the Hogwarts cloak inside out and wrapped it around herself.

"Hold on," Albus nodded, trying to decide where to go first. He knew the password to James' house, but he could not enter Rose's and Theo's residence, except through the front door, which was likely protected by spells. Xenia was likely not home, as she spent long hours at the hospital. And James was hardly home as well: he was always at practice… Unlike them, Theo was always in, since he worked from home… Also, since their houses were not far apart and they could always adjust their plans depending on the situation…

Albus nodded again, decided, and smiled at Bertie:

"We must go to my cousin Rose; Theo will not refuse to help us."

"And how will we get there? Do they live close?" the girl asked hopefully.

Albus thought some more: he had not considered that. They should have planned better; then things would not have gone awry from the very beginning. James and Scorpius would have ridiculed him for that: they always pulled such things off good and proper. At least, Daddy always called them "generals of mischief"…

"We shall take the Knight Bus!" the solution just popped in his head.

"But, Al, do you just happen to have a few galleons on you?" Bertie remarked reasonably, but the young Potter knew exactly what to do. Of course, his plan was not thought out in advance (he didn't have even a Knut on him), but what did one need a brain for?

"Why should I carry cash with me?" the boy smile. "Come. We will have everything we need."

He headed down Diagon Alley to the small park where he used to frolic while the adults were busy shopping. These days, of course, he no longer did that: he was in school now and had his own wand. He was almost a grown wizard! And imagining Dad, or Scorpius, or Theo rolling in the grass… Or Uncle Severus, for that matter…

"Of course, we could drop by my uncle at his store," Albus explained to Bertie, who hurried to keep up with him, "but he would not be happy to hear that I ran away from school, and will likely send us back. So, we have nothing else to do but…"

They quickly crossed the lawn and stopped before a big fountain with a statue of an elderly witch (Albus could not remember her name) holding a miniature copy of the Diagon Alley. Daddy had said that she was the first one to set up shop here, although her wares were of Dark Magic variety, which had not been forbidden at the time and were even quite popular. This was a looong time ago…

"Albus, why are you staring at the fountain?" Bertie shook from the cold wind and the spray that fell on her face and clothes.

"Not at the fountain, but at what is in the fountain," Albus replied, smiling, having already removed his boots. The girl bent down to look inside, and gasped. "Exactly, this is the wishing fountain; someone always throws coins in. Especially tourists…"

"And it will not be stealing?" Bertie watched her friend roll up his pants and shirt sleeves.

"I have put in close to three galleons over the years, so do not worry: I will simply take them back, as if I changed my mind. Besides, we do not need that much…"

Albus got in the water, feeling goosebumps run down his spine of the chill. If he gets sick, Theo or Xenia can cure him, no worries. There were, indeed, plenty of coins on the bottom of the fountain, and Albus quickly collected two galleons' worth. He thought a moment – and took a few more Sickles and Knuts. Just in case. If something is left over, he will return them later.

"Get dressed, quickly," Bertie was bouncing in place in agitation. Albus could easily understand her: he had never ridden the Knight Bus, either. Soon they reached the edge of the park and Albus waved his wand.

A moment later, a harsh popping sound must have made every wizard on Diagon Alley jump a foot. The purple bus screeched to a stop inches before the "Orchard and Garden" shop. A lad in a leather jacket promptly fell out of it.

"Are ye mental?!" he yelled at the children, his fists on his hips. "Got a brain on ye?! What if we done run someone over?! Who summons the bus to the Diagon Alley?!"

Albus and Bertie silently stared from the bus, whose passengers peered curiously out the windows at them, to the incensed conductor.

"I have not read anywhere that the bus could not be summoned to Diagon Alley, if that is the place where you got in trouble," Albus responded courteously. Such logic and decorum usually worked like a charm even on Professor Faust.

The conductor opened his mouth and closed it again, staring dumbfounded at the boy.

"Hey, are we coming or going?" someone called out from the bus. "I am running late!"

"Aha," the conductor echoed and waved for the children to follow him. "Smartypants ye are…"

Albus and Bertie grabbed the first two empty seats and were looking around them, wide-eyed.

"Where are ye off to, smartypants?" the lad asked none too friendly, taking out a stack of tickets.

Albus did not know Rose and Theo's exact address, and so he named the town where they lived, adding:

"I'll show you the place when we get there. Or you can just let us out and we'll walk the rest of the way."

The conductor hemmed, but withheld further comments. He handed Al two tickets:

"One galleon and one sickle."

The boy paid, knowing that he was being overcharged, yet unwilling to argue – what for?

They were already heading down a country road, and the children were taking in the views, trying not to miss anything.

"Ye're next," the conductor muttered. "It's on the way."

Albus was even a bit sorry that the trip ended so soon, but he reminded himself that they were not on a pleasure trip but on a rescue mission for Bertie's mum.

They got out at the edge of the town where Rose, Theo, James and Xenia lived. Albus looked around for a few seconds, before nodding and smiling at Bertie:

"We are almost there, it's not far."

Indeed, in a few minutes they came to the picket fence around a small cottage, with a mailbox on the gate (Albus knew that no one ever used it), and a nameplate that said "T. Mancilli, Healer". Only wizards could see the nameplate, according to Rose.

"Let's ring the door," Albus pulled the doorbell rope, staring at the door. The door remained closed. Where is Theo? Could he have left to visit a patient?

"Now what?" Bertie asked quietly; she was clearly getting chilly. Al winked at her in encouragement and gave her a piece of candy stashed in his pocket.

"All right…" the boy leaned against the gate and suddenly realized that it was not magically locked. What about the protective spells? "Wow."

They crossed the yard and went onto the porch. The door was locked, however.

"Maybe they were in such a hurry that they forgot to set the spells?" Albus pondered aloud, looking around him. Then he glanced at Bertie: "We need to go to James' and Xenia's. But what if Theo comes back?"

He pondered for a minute, aware that everything, absolutely everything was not going right today. James must be right about some things. But it was too late to stop now…

"May I go with you?"

"Bertie, but what if Theo returns and then leaves again? Better to wait here…"

The girl nodded, but she was clearly uneasy about staying there alone.

"I'll return quickly, possibly with Xenia," Al consoled her, thrusting his hand in his pocket and fishing out more candy. "Here…"

Then he waved at his friend and ran off, drawing stares of the Muggles along the way. He ran and walked by turns, imagining Theo and Rose back at home, Bertie sitting in the warm living room with a cup of tea and cookies that his cousin was so good at baking.

Unfortunately, he did not have a watch, and he couldn't say how much time had passed before he reached his brother's house. He stopped by the gate, looked around, and only then took out his wand, touching it to the lock and whispering "amateur ferret". James likely was not aware that Al overheard the password when he last visited with Xenia, and his brother was discussing it loudly with Scorpius. It came in handy now, although, of course, eavesdropping was not a nice thing to do…

The boy entered the yard, ran over to the door, and was about to touch it with his wand (Dad explained to him that underage magic could be used only in critical situations, while James added that it should only be done in places where adult wizards were registered to reside), when he realized that there was someone inside. He quickly removed the spell on the front door and ran inside, delighted:

"Jim, is that you?"

Albus froze in the middle of the living room, looking at the young man he had never seen before, who was holding James' broomstick in his hands.

"Hello, who are you?"

"Albus Potter?" the man smiled, setting the broomstick next to the closet where it was normally kept.

"Do you know me?" the boy looked curiously at this stranger. "Is Jim and Xenia home?"

"They left."

"And what are you doing here?"

"I was tuning your brother's broomstick…"

"You are the broomstick tuner? Never heard of such an occupation," Albus walked into the living room and sat on the arm of the sofa. "Is something wrong with Jim's broomstick?"

"No, just minor refinements, to help your brother fly better."

"He is the best flyer as it is," Albus responded proudly, glancing at the fireplace. "When will they be back?"

"They will meet me at a café; we agreed to dine together," the man answered. He seemed like a nice bloke, with a pleasant smile. And he seemed a lot like Scorpius: not in appearance, but in behaviour. That was the best Albus could formulate it.

"Can you tell them that I am waiting here?" Al set aside his folded cloak and decided to go to the kitchen and have a snack, before going to get Bertie.

"You can go with me and tell him everything yourself," the young man thrust his hands in the pockets of his trousers. "It is not far."

Albus thought for a moment: what's faster… waiting for an undetermined length of time versus going to see his brother who could Apparate both of them to Rose's home right away and pick up Bertie… The latter seemed faster. Besides, this man could not have shown up at Jim's house without his permission and knowing the password.

"All right," the boy nodded. "We are Apparating, are we not? It is faster, and I am in quite a hurry, because my friend's mum is very ill."

The man smiled pleasantly and nodded.


	23. Part 2 - Chapter 7 - Ron Weasley

Chapter 7. Ron Weasley.

It felt odd to him, looking at Rose and Bertie standing side by side, knowing that both his lives – the past and the present – most unpredictably entwined. Crossed. And now he had to sort it out somehow.

Yet now, his chief focus was Sarah – the young woman was unconscious, moaning from time to time and trying to open her eyes.

"Who are you?" Rose looked at Bertie while the younger girl rubbed her eyes sleepily, trying to make sense of what was happening.

"I am Bertie…" she appeared to finally come awake, and her mouth fell open: "Uncle Ron? Mummy?"

Dumb show, Ron thought with a momentary smirk, but now was not the time for amusement. Theodic must have thought the same, for he silently opened the front door and motioned everyone inside.

"Follow me," the healer threw open the doors to the well-lit examination room, and Ron, without a backward glance at Rose or Bertie carried Sarah through to the small room with the cot, as Theodic was already pulling items out of the cabinets. He lay Sarah on the bed, carefully sweeping back a lock of hair that fell on her pale, thin face, and straightened up.

"Go now, I'll call for you," the healer said curtly, walking over to his patient.

Ron did not want to leave Sarah alone, especially with this strange man. Yes, Rose had written loads about him, and only good things, she loved him very much. Besides, Ron knew well that Theo was partially responsible for rescuing him from the Ministry snare. Yet, looking at the healer, he saw Severus Snape, whom, despite all they learned at the end of the war with Voldemort, he still did not like much.

Still, he left the room, closing the door behind him. He trusted Rose, and so he had to trust Theodic; especially since he did not really have a choice. And, to top it all, there was Bertie who somehow appeared on their doorstep.

Rose and Bertie were in the parlor: his daughter had gotten Bertie some tea and cookies. Wrapped in a tartan, Bertie sat, tired and silent in the chair, as though waiting. As soon as Ron walked in, the girl jumped to her feet and rushed him, the tartan trailing after her.

"What's with Mum? How is she?"

Ron caught the odd look Rose was giving him, but quickly knelt before Bertie, knowing that she needed him more at this moment.

"She will get well," he said firmly, believing it. "And now tell me what are you doing here? How did you get away from Hogwarts?"

"It is Albus," Bertie mumbled, looking both guilty and frightened.

"Albus?" Rose also stood up, looking from her father to Bertie. "Albus Potter?"

"Yes," the girl nodded and quickly filled them in on her escape from the school up to the moment when Albus went to see his brother, leaving her to wait for Theo. "I waited and waited, and then I fell asleep…"

Ron glanced at the worried Rose.

"James and Xenia live fifteen minutes away," she explained to Ron, gripping her wand. "Where could he have disappeared to? Could he have stayed at James' for the night?"

"No, he could not," Bertie said confidently, almost stomping her foot. "Albus would not have forgotten. He promised."

"Yes," Rose nodded, and Ron clearly imagined his nephew now: a miniature version of Harry Potter, also eager and willing to help and to save anyone who needed it, and getting into the most improbable situations as the result. "I must go there; what if something happened?"

Ron got to his feet, his hand still on Bertie's shoulder, watching Rose walk toward the fireplace:

"Wait, I'll go with you," he said, not knowing why. A couple of seconds later, however, he realized that what he was feeling was apprehension. And danger. He knew this instinct: indeed, that animal sense that had once saved him from an avalanche in the mountains. "Don't go alone."

"Daddy, you must stay here," Rose answered gently, nodding at the scared and a bit surprised Bertie. "They need you…"

"Daddy?" the younger girl turned toward Ron, and he belatedly understood the cause for her amazement. "Uncle Ron, is she your daughter?"

He could do nothing but nod.

"You never said that you had a daughter," Bertie said reproachfully, stepping back and folding her arms. "Then why are you with us and not with them?"

Ron was afraid to look Rose in the eye, although he felt her eyes on him. Yes, Bertie knew nothing of his past; Ron had never spoke in front of her of his family. He didn't speak about them much with Sarah, either.

"Bertie…" he looked at the girl, whose gaze now shifted at Rose, standing by the fireplace:

"You are Uncle Ron's daughter? And where is your mum?"

"She is away," Rose's voice sounded muted.

"Why then are you with us, and not with them?"

Ron dared a glance at his daughter, who looked away. No one answered Bertie's question.

"Because he is a werewolf?"

Ron flinched.

"Bertie, this is a long story…"

"Grown-ups always say that when they are ashamed to explain," the girl said. "And there I was, thinking that you had no one, Uncle Ron…"

He looked at Rose again, and this time his daughter did not look away, but the feelings that had been in her face before were gone; the feelings with which she entered their snow-covered cottage in the mountains; that showed in her tear-filled eyes. Now, she looked more like Hermione did back at Hogwarts, in their sixth year, if memory served, when he was dumb enough to date Lavender. It was so long ago, but to this day he remembered the look in Hermione's eyes. And Rose greatly favoured her mother right now. It was as though she just fully realized and believed that Ron had another family.

"I have to go; I have to find Al," Rose broke the silence, and Ron started, hanging his head. He had imagined their reunion differently. Yet, what did he want? After all, he had not intended to see them again at all, precisely because he knew in his heart that he had earned the look on Rose's face by his four years of silence. That was the point…

"I am with you," he was still feeling apprehensive at the thought of Rose searching for Al. No matter where – he just knew that it was dangerous.

"Uncle Ron!" Bertie clutched at his hand. "You can't. You can't leave Mum…"

"Bertie, I can't help her any more right now," Ron said gently.

"Stay with them," Rose said, getting a handful of Floo powder out of the jar. She was herself again, as though it wasn't her moments before giving him that oddly-cold, "I don't know you" look. "You need them…"

"No," Ron said firmly, setting aside the angry Bertie. "I am coming with you. Bertie, go sit with your mother. I shall be back soon."

"You can't…" she repeated, begging now. Ron smiled contritely, trying to set aside the thoughts of what was happening here, yet the thought was swirling in his mind: he would be torn in half between his two lives, the past and the present. Between his two families… That was why he should never have returned.

"Wait for me here, and we'll decide on how to get you back to Hogwarts," Ron walked to the fireplace and also picked up the Floo powder. Rose was looking at him with reproach.

"I shall not go. I shall stay with Mummy until she is better. That was why Albus and I came here!" Bertie said stubbornly, turned and disappeared behind the door that led to Theo's study.

"She is tired and worried about her mum," Ron smiled faintly at his daughter. "Generally, she is very calm…"

Rose nodded, but did not say anything. She clearly spoke James' address and the password to the fireplace ("Hyppogriff Herd"), and vanished amidst green flames. Ron followed after her, appearing only moments later in the small parlor filled with morning sun. One could instantly sense James Potter's presence in this house: Seeker gloves lay in the corner, shin guards – on the table, the broomstick stood askew by the closet, and the Gryffindor banner was wrapped around the torch-lamp shade.

"Nobody is here now," Rose had looked in the kitchen, gone upstairs, come back, and even stepped outside, looking over the neighborhood, confused. "And probably hasn't been for a while…"

"Why do you think so?" Ron stood still, because he sensed danger hanging thickly in the air.

"Because the owl is sleeping in the kitchen, having arrived yesterday. She has the letter with yesterday's timestamp," Rose explained, walking over to the closet and looking at the broomstick. "Strange…"

"What?" Ron glanced at the photographs on the mantle and quickly turned away.

"I have never seen James leaving his broomstick strapped so sloppily," the girl reached to adjust the straps around the broomstick.

"Don't touch!" he shouted, leaping toward his daughter and grabbing her by the hand. "Don't touch anything here."

"What?"

"Just leave it," Ron asked, calmer now. "Dunno why, but it seems to me that it is a bad idea to touch anything here. Just take my word for it."

The girl nodded, still unsure what her father meant, but apparently trusting him. It was a good feeling.

"Look, Dad," Rose walked over to the sofa and picked up a folded Hogwarts cloak, with "Albus Severus Potter" label. "Where is he?"

Ron shrugged his shoulders: he did not know. Yet, he had a feeling that something shady was afoot. In the last few years he had learned to trust his gut feeling; to trust the part of him that always remained that of the beast, even when the sun shone in the sky.

The missing Albus. Danger permeating James' house. According to Rose, the vanished James and his wife.

"What have you gotten yourselves into this time?" he asked plainly, cautiously going around the parlor.

"Priscilla Zabini," Rose said after a momentary pause, looking at her father.

"What?"

"The last time I saw James was when he and Malfoy read the news article about Priscilla Zabini's release from Azkaban. They went to look for Lily and Xenia… Daddy, you don't think…?" she looked up at her father anxiously. "No, that's silly. I am just winding myself up… James and Albus must have gone to St. Mungo's to get Xenia…"

Ron didn't say anything, because his gut told him that his daughter was not worried for nothing.

"Shall we wait or go back?"

"What's the point of waiting?" but Rose went up the stairs to the second floor, just to have another look around: what if Albus fell asleep so soundly that he failed to hear them. Ron smiled affectionately: his daughter never lost hope as well as her belief that there was a way out of any situation.

Ron carefully avoided looking at the photographs where his loved ones were moving around. He didn't want to see them, to spare himself worse pain. His reunion with Rose had already made it crystal clear that his past life was well and truly gone.

"No one," she returned, looking lost. "Where could have Albus gone?"

Again, Ron didn't respond: there were tons of possibilities, but the only ones coming to mind were the bad ones.

"Let's go back, and then decide where to look for him."

"Daddy, maybe we should send a message to Xenia and James?"

"Let's go, we'll figure it out back at your place," Ron said off-handedly, still thinking about the photographs.

"I'll at least leave a note."

He waited silently for her to pen down a few words for her cousin, looking down at his big hands. There he was, reunited with his family…

He looked up: Rose was peering intently at her father.

"What?"

"It is good to have you near."

He tried to smile, but failed, and turned away to prevent her from seeing his eyes glimmer at the unexpected remark.

"Let's go; that Healer of yours must be worried."

"Bertie, too," Rose said calmly, stepping into the fireplace.


	24. Part 2 - Chapter 8 - Single Combat

_**Chapter 8. Single Combat.**_

He walked into this small, seemingly long-vacant house with a feeling of triumph the likes of which he'd never felt before. He saw Xenia Verdi, now Potter (stupid girl), believing for a moment that he would be able to help his sister, that this whole scheme by the unknown benefactor would definitely end well.

And then a wand sliced through the air and Fritz was immobilized. Eyes full of confusion, he watched Xenia lower her wand, looking at him curiously. Damn that idiot for giving her back her wand!

"So Lily was right, after all," Verdi said calmly (Fritz refused to use her new name), "you are involved in this like nobody else."

The chap wanted to utter a retort, but couldn't. The girl walked over to him and took the wand out of his hand. Coming in, he was not at all wary of his captive, and did not hold the wand firmly in his grip. As if he could have anticipated that idiot returning her wand to her!

Fritz tried to focus on turning the situation in his favour. Everything was going so well… He almost had the healer in his grasp, he almost brought the brilliant plan to fruition. Fritz rarely recalled that Xenia ended up in his power not through his actions, but as a gift from the unknown benefactor, who had offered to help.

Who this man was and why he hated Malfoy, Zabini neither knew nor wanted to know. He only understood that his ally was smart and careful; otherwise, how would he have managed to kidnap the ginger Potter and Malfoy's cousin? The man also predicted off the top of his head that Malfoy would show up at the Zabini's mansion. He did that, but failed to find anything.

His secret friend was clever, indeed. Clever and reticent, for even now, being in some strange house that smelled of smoke and soot, Fritz had no idea who this helper was. Two house elves did everything, from delivering letters to bringing Fritz here, to this strange place.

But why would he have given her the wand?!

"I shall remove the spell now, and we will leave here together," Xenia said quietly, pointing her weapon at the door through which Fritz had just entered. "Don't worry, I won't harm you; I just want to get out of here…"

She looked back and suddenly froze:

"Lily…"

She was clearly contemplating an attempt to get her friend out as well. So, the ginger Potter is here somewhere as well. Also with a wand?!

"Well-well-well," came a mocking voice from behind Fritz, who realized with relief that it belonged to the mastermind of all this. Well, he'd given her the wand, let him sort it out. "It was a good thing that I decided to stick around and make sure that the handover went smoothly."

Xenia was looking behind Fritz's back, but he wasn't able to turn and see the man who had put together this plan of Malfoy paying his dues.

"Don't be silly, Xenia, lower your wand and give it to Mr. Zabini," said the man. Fritz fumed silently at his not being in a hurry to remove the spell. Shouldn't be too hard, should it?! "Don't force me to hurt you; I would honestly prefer to avoid it."

"So, I am merely a gift to Mr. Zabini here?" the girl inquired calmly, putting down her wand. The familiar house elf hurried over: he snatched the weapon out of Xenia's slender hand and turned away from her, clearly waiting for instructions.

"You are not a gift, of course not," the man behind Fritz laughed rather unpleasantly. "This is just a proper pay back for what a member of your family did to Mr. Zabini's family. And now we shall grant him control of his faculties, and you, Xenia will behave, because otherwise, I fear he will not be as kind to you as I have been."

Zabini realized with relief that the spell was now broken: he lunged for the house elf and grabbed both his and Xenia's wand from him.

"Easy, Mr. Zabini, it wouldn't do to break the fingers of my worker elves: they are very rare these days."

Fritz turned toward the man, careful to keep Malfoy's cousin in his sights as well, but did not see anything. Only the door opened and shut noiselessly. Fine, every man was entitled to his little quirks, Fritz thought as he pointed Xenia's wand at the door:

"And don't do anything stupid."

The girl nodded, casting the last glance at the house elf who remained in the room, and slowly headed for the exit.

The sun was rising, its pale-yellow rays illuminating the early autumn forest, the mountains beyond and the cottage with a sloped roof they just exited. All around them was silent, even birds did not chirp. Fritz was not curious as to their whereabouts; he was in a hurry to get to the underground tunnels on his family estate, to be absolutely sure of his success.

To please Priscilla with his good news.

They Apparated – Zabini was gripping both Xenia's cold hands in his. As soon as they found themselves in a small grove that concealed the entrance to the tunnel, Fritz pointed both wands at Xenia and smiled, in his opinion, quite pleasantly:

"Welcome to our home, Verdi."

She shrugged her shoulders, showing her full cooperation with the new twist in her fate, and soon they were walking down the dark and damp tunnel, where each step produced a muted echo, and repulsive crumbs of wet earth fell into their collars.

They exited the tunnel, went up a few steps, and soon crossed a short unlit corridor. Everyone in the house was still asleep. Fritz smiled, opening a recently greased door to the dungeons concealed beneath the house since times long past, that were once a favourite diversion of Scorpius Malfoy's on his visits here. Not a problem, since he's been here already and searched the place.

Five minutes later, Fritz pushed Xenia into a dark room, locked the door and hurried upstairs. Now everything would be well. Now Priscilla would see how much he loves her. He would help her; her and their brother.

As he approached his sister's sun-lit room, he heard the sounds he dreaded; the sounds he hated; and yet worshipped – because it was Priscilla. The moans his sister uttered occasionally broke into strange sort of scream. For a moment, there was silence (he knew that she was biting the pillow in an attempt to prevent anyone overhearing her suffering), and then the moans resumed.

Fritz froze by the door, knowing how it enraged Priscilla for someone to enter the room when she was in this condition. But this would soon change! He would tell her everything, and she would be easier!

He opened the door with a shaking hand and entered the room that was slowly filling with the light of the rising sun. She never closed the curtains, because darkness was deadly to her. However, the sunlight spell that was placed on her room must have weakened toward the morning and the darkness found its way inside.

Fritz stood still, looking at the bed where, curled into a ball, was sat his sister. This was only the second time he saw her this way and, like the first time, his heart filled with fear and loathing.

She raised her head and looked at him. Yet, these were not her eyes: they were now big, round and amber in colour, hardly blinking. The nose sharpened and looked very hard, the lips pulled upward, almost up to it. His sister appeared almost half her usual height and instead of her arms hugging the knees, it was two large wings, covered with greyish-white feathers. Her naked legs were also partially covered with feathers, yet they were still clearly human legs.

Fritz was silent, and so was his sister. He tightened his fists until they hurt, hating the darkness that turned his sister into a monster, and the man who was the cause of all this.

_He_ put Priscilla in Azkaban. He forced her to think incessantly of escaping that horrible place. He forced her to study to become an animagus, in order to repeat the feat of the animagus called Sirius Black. He and he alone was responsible for her failure!

His sister was still staring at him, unblinkingly. Then she opened her mouth, wanting to shout something at him but instead, the irate hooting of an owl came out.

He entered the quite house and slowly shut the door. Through the closed curtains he could see the rising sun. He walked into the room and used his wand to light the fireplace. Then he sat down and leaned back onto the cushions, rubbing his tired face. How hard it is – not to be yourself.

He relaxed, letting his face take its true form, erasing the alien features. For a moment, as always, he had the desire to stand before the mirror and change again. To change as she had wanted. To change and walk into the bedroom, waking her. To at least once see the real smile on her face; the real happiness.

Yet he continued to sit, smiling at the sunrise. Because now it did not matter. She did not remember that happiness; she would not remember that face, even if he dared to put on the mask she has dreamed of for so long. She would not know, because he took care of it. And he would do it again, with someone else, this time…

He sat, relaxing, staring at the fire dancing in the fireplace, but thinking not of gold, but of silver that he despised, hated… And once he worshipped it, he craved silver.

Once again, he remembered school. Remembered to harden his heart even more. Because the past was what gave him the strength to do what he was doing now.

You ignored me for years, while I dreamed of being your friend. A better friend than that despised Gryffindor. Better, more devoted. And what did you do? You hardly noticed me, except to laugh at me, to joke at my expense. I took in all your gestures, your body language, for you were one of a kind. I wanted to be your friend, but you made me your foe. A quiet, unnoticeable one, unworthy of attention.

And then I began to fear you. And to hate you, when you took her from me. I knew that, even rejected and tainted by you as she was, she was still thinking of you, dreaming of you; even though she tried to hide it behind cold smiles. And you know what? I humbled myself. I abandoned all hope of making her mine; I gave her to you to be your toy.

I gave up; I forgot about her and about you. Because another entered my life; she, my wife. I was madly happy; I was jumping for joy, for she was mine and mine alone! She'd never known you ; you could never have her. She was mine.

I loved her as no one else in the world. From the moment I first laid eyes on her. From the first instant. I was afraid to go to her and strike a conversation, but I got lucky. For the first and only time in my life, as I then thought. Our parents knew each other. This was how my happiness began, unbeknownst to you. I was with her, I talked to her, I held her hand. I kissed her; possessed her…

We joked and played; I waited on her hand and foot. And when she said that she would want me to change a little bit, I happily agreed. For her, I did the impossible, because I wanted to be the way she wanted me to look. I learned to change my appearance. And once I did her bidding, my life was destroyed.

This was when I suddenly realized everything. And I learned everything, because I wanted to know. And my happiness faded. And I knew then that she was not mine after all. Yours. Still yours!

I turned her life into a fairy tale, and just as easily shattered the illusion. And then I glued it back together again, but without the unneeded pieces. I believed that now she would be mine. And she is.

But me, I can't forget. I can't forgive. Not you. And so, you'll pay me back, Scorpius Malfoy. Many years ago you didn't deem me worthy of your friendship. Now I shall make you a worthy enemy.

And if you find me, I'll hold my head up high, for you have lost a few rounds to me already. And I shall be glad to look into your silver eyes with my own silver ones, so you would know what I did as your shadow. What I did for love. For her – who was but a toy to you.

Now I shall toy with you and your love.


	25. Part 3 - Chapter 1 - Scorpius Malfoy

**Finally able to put out the next chapter! :) As they say in Russian, "life is in full swing.. and the bat always hits you in the head." Oh, well... :)**

_**Chapter 1. Scorpius Malfoy.**_

Greg Gregory… Well, it was bound to happen one of these days…

Couldn't forget her? Couldn't forgive him?

The memory readily served up the image of the always spick-and-span aristocrat, whose right to be called that was actually very much in doubt, since his family had lost all its fortune back in the times of the goblin wars…

How convenient that the Ministry keeps the record of the addresses: no need to spend time tracking down this portkey aficionado.

Still, something just does not add up.

Another move?

Then where will this… turn up, if Gregory turns out to be yet another dead end to distract them from the true enemy?

If nothing comes out of this, we'll shake down the Ministry; something fishy is going on with the portkeys…

Lily, make sure you count all your teardrops, for I shall exact full revenge for every one…

"He wouldn't harm Lily," James muttered in his ear as they stopped at the gate of a cozy white cottage with a disproportionately huge chimney, as though meant to accommodate a Hagrid-size Santa Clause. Scorpius noted all that in passing, more out of habit then out of true interest in Gregory's abode.

"If he hasn't yet, he'll never get another chance," Malfoy ground out through his teeth, ready to hate this house, and the chimney, and the owner. It always came easily to him: the hatred.

"Malfoy, you have the face of a killer right now," James remarked, putting his hand on his best mate's shoulder. Scorpius wanted to throw off the weight, but thought better of it: why unnecessary movements? They had made plenty of those in the last twenty four hours; they ought to save their strength…

Twenty four hours. Even a bit less. And it seems as though years have passed, turning his hair grey, like Harry Potter's during that fateful September…

Malfoy, you are about to turn into a fidgety prefect Weasley. Or into yet another Potter with their perpensity for soul-searching. Get yourself under control. Make a plan of action.

Time to sit down and think: coldly, clearly, without emotion. But that will have to wait until after the Gregory visit, because right now he wouldn't be capable of summoning the said clarity and control. If only because the house he was stood before was not just one belonging to a suspect in his wife's kidnapping, but that of a former suitor who could have, given the right circumstances (right for him), be in Scorpius' shoes right now. This was infuriating, disturbing – the jealousy; stupid and untimely. After all, it has been years…

"Malfoy, let's go," Potter, manifesting unusual acumen, simply pushed the gate – and it opened. Thus, the house sported not only a stupid chimney, but also a complete lack of any magical security. Did Gregory turned Muggle?

Well, any hope that everything would clear up easily died fast and quiet. No security, no defensive spells. He is not wary of visitors.

Lily, where are you?!

They entered the yard, squinting at rays of the rising sun bouncing off the curtained windows.

Even if it isn't Gregory, his name did not appear in the list accidentally. Could it be payback to him also – in passing?!

"Shall we ring or just break down the door?" Potter asked, a grin on his pale face, taking out his wand. Malfoy realized that he had never put away his at all.

Scorpius pulled on the door bell rope and winced: just like a proverbial pastoral bell on a cow's neck. Gregory, hippogriff take you… All of this just did not jive well with the image of the former Slytherin, making him wary.

What if it _is_ him after all?

The door opened almost at once. Gregory stood in the doorway, neat as always, even on this early morning. He sported a dark-blue dressing-gown over a fresh shirt and trousers.

"Hello, Gregory."

"Good morning, Malfoy," the other said calmly, looking over the uninvited visitors. Yes, he and Potter must be a sight to behold: disheveled, not a wink of sleep or a speck of food all day and night, covered in soot (at least Potter, for sure) and probably something else as well, with facial expressions far from pleasant… "Just passing by?"

Gregory stepped back, letting the guests in. He closed the door and strode into the living room to the small table with coffee and a fresh newspaper. The host pointed to the chairs around the table, then waved his wand – the coffee pot and cups materialized before them.

"Make yourselves at home," Greg smiled. He was clearly curious about the sudden visit of his former classmates, yet tried not to let on. No fear, no wariness – as closely as Malfoy watched Gregory, he couldn't detect any of it. Still, his training at self-control had been as thorough as Scorpius'…

"Why did you create a portkey yesterday?" Malfoy demanded, standing by the table, looming over the already seated Gregory.

Their host raised his eyebrows in surprise, ignoring the fact that his visitors never sat down.

"A portkey? What made you think that I created a portkey yesterday?"

There, Scorpius knew right then that they had been tricked once again; that again the invisible foe had played them for fools.

Malfoy sat at the table across from Gregory.

"It isn't us; it's the Ministry where it was written with a quill on parchment that you created a portkey yesterday. Or planned to create one.

Potter also sat down, stretching his legs tiredly. Speaking of going grey, he would be a prime candidate…

"The Ministry makes mistakes frequently," Gregory said calmly, for some reason glancing at the stairs. Well, well, that's interesting…

"Where were you yesterday, around two o'clock in the afternoon?" Scorpius' eyes bore into Greg. Something wrong, Mr. Gregory? What is upstairs?

"Here," he shrugged his shoulders, and his serene gaze once again shot up the steps.

"Who can confirm that?" James spoke. His voice was muted and hard. The look in his eyes was grim and menacing.

It's ok, Potter, hang in there. We'll find them.

Greg shrugged his shoulders as Malfoy was getting more and more suspicious. What are you hiding, Gregory?

"Who can confirm that you did not create a portal at fourteen hundred hours yesterday?" James almost growled, leaning forward. "Gregory, no beating around the bush…"

"As I see it, I have no choice," the other smiled, glancing at the stairs again. Then at the wand that the two friends held tight in their hands. "And it doesn't make sense to ask you what happened…"

"Gregory," Malfoy said quietly, but even a deaf person could hear a threat in his tone.

"My wife can confirm this," their host's eyes flashed, as though he was holding back a smile.

"Wife?" Scorpius was genuinely surprised. He mentally flipped through the pages of newspapers he'd read recently, but failed to recall the relevant information. "When did you get hitched?"

"I got married in July."

Malfoy knew at once why he'd missed it: in July the four of them went to Greece, and were too occupied for reading newspapers and society chronicle. The sun, the sand, the ancient ruins they roamed… And his Lily, dressed in a sundress, her hair billowing like flame in the breeze…

Lily.

He shook his head, feeling his heart constrict with longing in his chest. He doesn't have a heart! He oughtn't.

Well…

"Where is she?"

"Who?" for the first time Scorpius saw Gregory look puzzled.

"Your wife," Malfoy clarified, leaning back in the chair. "Who have we been talking about here?"

"You spoke of Lily…" James said quietly, watching his friend with a puppy-like understanding.

"Potter…" Scorpius was about to do a cuckoo sign, hoping to make James snap out of it.

"Malfoy, you just spoke her name," Gregory remarked politely, and his civility was more nauseating than Potter's empathy. "Has something happened to her?"

"Something will happen to you," Scorpius promised, ready to kill himself for speaking his thoughts out loud. It is not the time to show weakness. Because should he allow even a moment of weakness, he will not be able to get it back together. And right now, he has to be steady as a rock, for she needs him. Lily needs him more than ever. "It will happen to you, should you fail to prove that you weren't on Diagon Alley last night, that you did not create a portkey, and that the Ministry blokes had all gotten sloshed and muddled things up…"

At that moment, as though in answer to the unasked question, light footsteps sounded on the stairs. Scorpius did not even notice himself getting up: his eyes were glued to the slender form with flowing ash-blonde hair, clad in nothing (as was easily guessed) but a man's shirt.

She froze in the middle of her descent, staring at the early guests. Her eyes, a moment ago half-closed sleepily, opened wide in surprise; her hand stilled on the railing.

"Good morning," Gregory said calmly, making Scorpius start and look away.

"And to you," she also looked away, taking her husband's hand. "I didn't know we had visitors."

"Well…" Greg clearly did not know what to say – he simply took off his dressing-gown and handed it to his wife. She put it on unhurriedly and only then looked back at Malfoy and Potter. "I believe we all know one another."

"Well, hello, Scorpius," the girl said, bravely meeting his icy stare. "Long time, no see."

"Hello, Liana," he grinned. "Or should I call you 'Mrs. Gregory' now?"

"As you wish," she shrugged her shoulders as she walked to the table and sat down. Greg sat next to her, she smiled at her husband, took his coffee cup and took a sip of the now cold coffee, watching their guests take their seats. Potter was clearly also surprised, and Malfoy could barely hold back a nasty smirk: life is an interesting thing. He and Gregory appear to share their taste in women… Funny… "Why are you here?"

"You see, they are very keen on knowing what I was doing yesterday around two o'clock," Greg said calmly, pouring her more coffee. Liana smiled at him gratefully, her eyes on the coffee pot, but Scorpius noticed that at Gregory's words her ears reddened red and she blushed scarlet.

"Honeymoon still in progress?" Malfoy remarked caustically. His tone was caused by his sudden realization that they now had zero chances of finding something to go on here. In reality, he didn't give a fig about Gregory and McLaggen's nuptuals. Or anything else, for that matter, because he was no closer now to finding Lily.

"Scorpius, is something wrong?" Liana was watching him closely – as she used to back at Hogwarts.

He was sat in the cozy parlor of this peaceful cottage, filled with love, under Liana's attentive gaze… Later, he could never quite explain to himself why, but he spoke, dropping words like rocks into the liquid, water-like coziness of Gregory's living room:

"Lily was kidnapped by someone who wants to strip me of everything I love. Xenia was with her. A portkey was used."

This was all: three curt phrases that summed up his life. Three phrases that were tormenting him, literally gnawing on his insides. Because it is his enemy. It is his mistake – somewhere, in his past he did something wrong, left some business unfinished, failed to make his enemies understand that touching him or his loved ones was certain death. It is him who failed to destroy an enemy – and that makes it his fault.

Liana watched Scorpius closely, practically reading him like a book or a research paper. Once she was dear to him, once… Then there was the Astronomy tower, and the wind, and her tears. And emptiness inside, where something else had begun to grow…

He straightened abruptly in his chair, frowning. Liana's thoughts seemed to flow in a similar direction. Her face was a tad frightened – and yet, it was as though she had been given an interesting problem to solve, a riddle she was eager to crack.

Their eyes met, and she almost whispered:

"Two days ago I received a letter, asking for a clandestine meeting. It was signed 'Tobias Parkinson'."


	26. Part 3 - Chapter 2 - Albus Potter

_Thank you so much for the continuous reviews and interest in the story. I have been completely overwhelmed by the family/work combination, with all the crushing consequences for any creative effort. However, I did promise that I will finish the story and I will! :) Anyway, here is another chapter. He is quite a kid, our Albus!_

_**Chapter 2. Albus Potter.**_

Albus had understood long ago that he was not like other eleven-year-old boys, and took full advantage of it at every opportunity. What set him apart from his peers and from other kids in general was that he feared practically nothing and no one. Except, maybe, dogs – and not all of them at that.

After all, it would be rather difficult to frighten someone who saw his mum die, who remembered his father wail in grief, who looked a horrid werewolf in the eye, and who remembered the bared teeth of a dog that was about to rip his throat out.

It is difficult to get genuinely afraid if you can use Legilemency to learn things you were not meant to know or to make people do what you really need them to do. And what is there to fear when you have magical dreams in which you can always get help or the best of advice, and when your father is a great wizard who's been telling you for years that a house elf is always there to rescue you out of any pickle should you but call his name?

Keeping in mind Dirk, who was now supposed to be having some R&amp;R, what with Dad not taking him along on the trip, Albus was not at all frightened, unlike an ordinary child would be, upon realizing that the stranger next to him had Apparated both of them somewhere other than where he'd originally said he would. Instead of freezing in fright, he jumped back, away from the liar, pulling his hand from the man's grip.

The dusk had fallen, and the boy's thoughts turned to Bertie, alone on the porch of a locked house. She must be worried. Really, he should have been alarmed himself to find himself with a stranger on the edge of the woods, with no houses nearby, no lights in sight, only the gathering twilight and dark trees.

And when one's wand suddenly flies out of his pocket and into the hand of a grown and apparently strong man, and a wizard to boot, one ought to get scared; yet somehow, he was not.

"I have never heard of a café in the woods," Albus remarked politely, ignoring the trajectory of his wand. A wizard's power is not in his wand, according to Grandpa Albus. One has to find the strength within, and Al has always tried to do just that, for he wanted to be as extraordinary a wizard as Grandpa Dumbledore. Or, at least, as his father.

"You hang out with the wrong crowd, Albus Potter," the man smiled, appearing completely at ease. "Shall we do without screaming and Stunning spells?"

"Do you wish to hold me hostage or to kill me?" Al inquired almost conversationally, thrusting his hands in his pockets. Even Scorpius would be proud of him now, with his belief that cold resolve could disarm any foe.

"Most likely, the former," the man shrugged his shoulders, but Albus saw could see that he was slightly taken aback. "Are you not frightened at all?"

"Theo always said that it was silly to worry about things out of your control," Albus mirrored his kidnapper's gesture, causing him to frown. "Is anything wrong?"

"You," the man muttered, but then seemed to cast his doubts aside. Al must have disappointed him by failing at his role of an abducted child. Oh well, it was Marie Victoire who was the actress in the family; Albus, on the other hand, never liked the plays where someone was supposed to suffer. "All right, let's go…"

"I hope it's not far," Al replied, "because my brother is always put out with me when we go somewhere together. He says that I walk too slowly."

"Keep quiet," the man asked, pointing the direction with his wand. Al nodded and headed down the path, barely noticeable among the trees. "I'd rather you hollered and wept. I would have had an excuse to Stun you…"

"Well, I am sorry for that," Albus snorted, looking back at the wizard. Being Stunned was not at all his preference. Being kidnapped was a different matter; it was even interesting. He knew that this was all very serious, but still failed to be frightened. "What do you need me for?"

"I'll find something," the man was walking slowly, pointing his wand ahead of him. "And if you do something stupid…"

"You'll Stun me, I get it. Even Broon would have caught on," Albus remarked. Something strange was going on: Bertie's mum had fallen ill, Bertie herself was somewhere at large, Rose and Theo had vanished, a stranger at Jim's house – who, to top it all off, dared to touch Jim's broomstick, which hardly anyone was allowed to do. And now this kidnapping…

Grandpa Albus always said that there was no such thing as a coincidence. Therefore, it was all connected somehow. And thus, the plan (one absolutely had to have a plan if an Adventure was at hand) was: learn everything he could and then bail – by any means necessary; or, as Plan B – bail right away…

Can this man possibly know that capturing Albus Potter is no easier than Peeves, the Hogwarts poltergeist? Well, that is, according to Grandpa Arthur, to the boy's tentative agreement.

"Are we there yet?"

"Listen, will you stop pretending that you enjoy what is happening to you?" the wizard said in a slightly raised voice, walking closely behind him. Leaves rustled underfoot, the forest a dark wall ahead.

"And what's there not to like so far?" Albus shrugged his shoulders, trying to force himself to become frightened, even a little. Again, it didn't work. "Hiking does kids good…"

The kidnapper swore under his breath, and Albus smiled: it is so easy to knock the coolest customer off balance if you know what he expects. Albus was even able to make Scorpius lose his cool, difficult though that was, as a rule. Perhaps, that was why Albus was so attached to Lily's husband – after all, it is nice when one does not yell at you and chase you away, as James usually did, but rather behaves as though you are no nuisance at all.

Finally, Albus saw their destination. If not for his freshly made plan, he could have long darted for the bushes and disappeared; or, the danger of being Stunned notwithstanding, turned toward his kidnapper and poked around in the mind of the strange bloke whose best idea first thing in the morning was to abduct a little boy. Another option would have been to make him do something Albus wanted; that was nothing new to him.

"I like your house," the boy remarked, stopping and staring at the mansion that was visible from the high point where they stood. The ground sloped gently toward the house, with the forest behind them now. The house seemed light and airy; in the garden, surrounded by a stone fence, Albus saw two house elves wrapped in kitchen towels, busy planting a bush. "Will you hold me there?"

"Be quiet and keep walking," the wizard asked again calmly, nudging Albus in the back.

"I am hungry," the boy said, really feeling hunger.

The kidnapper ignored the words, making Albus shrug his shoulders. They walked briskly down the slope, and with each step the wall before them grew, becoming insurmountable. Yet, even the wall failed to scare the boy. He had no intention to find himself behind it.

"Is this your home?" Albus asked, guessing he had a few more minutes.

"What's it to you?"

Well, he must not be very good at twenty questions. Al acknowledged that and decided that his time was up. Who knows what is behind that gate. It is not advisable to enter them. Given that the wizard would not Apparate right inside the mansion, it must be problematic within the perimeter. Much like the Malfoy Manor, according to an James' and Scorpius' occasional comments.

They stopped before the tall wrought iron gate, with the letter "D" elegantly woven into the pattern, and Albus resolutely turned toward his kidnapper, taking him by surprise: he seemed to be trying to unlock the gate.

It was not even that hard: getting into a relaxed, unprotected mind (after all, he is no Theo or Xenia, or even Jim and Rose); sifting through a few vague images and then focus on a particular, dark one; then getting right out, leaving the person engrossed in his memories. Albus noticed in passing the wizard's contorted face, and then turned and dashed for the nearest bushes, whispering: "Dirk, I need you right away!"

"Master Al has taken up sprinting?" the elf materialized with a loud clap, and Al, without slowing down, grabbed him by the hand, pulling him along. "What…?"

"Apparate to that forest, quickly!" Albus whispered urgently, sensing that the wizard would come to faster than they could hide. "Now!"

In a couple of seconds they stood amidst the trees, hidden from sight. From here, they could see the mansion and the wizard by the gates. The man was looking around him, his wand pointing from side to side.

"Master Al…"

"Wait, please," Albus asked quietly, watching the unsuccessful kidnapper use his wand to open the gates. He could now see the elves who had been gardening. "Right, it appears we have a problem…"

Albus knew that the elves were being sent out to search the woods: the man must not have seen the house elf next to the boy, who could transport him far from the place.

"Dirk, can you Apparate to the other side of the mansion? Not into the garden, but on the outside of the wall…" Albus had not given up the idea to find out what was going on.

"Master Al, your father…"

"Don't make me give you a direct order; you know I dislike doing so," Albus asked, taking the house elf's big hand in his. "Nothing risky; I promise."

Dirk nodded.

There was nothing interesting on the opposite side of the mansion, except for a better view of the house and the windows that faced the grove on the other side of the wall.

Albus was thinking intensely. The thought of getting inside brought with it an uncomfortable inkling that he would be walking into a cage. He must listen to the voice of reason, instead heeding the siren call of adventure… Who had said that? Sounded like something Rose would say.

"Master Al, look!" Dirk pulled on his sweater sleeve and pointed at one of the windows. Looking out was the most beautiful girl Albus had ever seen. Yet, he seemed to have seen it just a few moments ago – in his kidnapper's memories.

"Why is she so sad?" he asked himself, looking at her golden hair, even more dazzling than Xenia's, and her big sad eyes, even more expressive than Rose's. "Maybe she's been kidnapped, too?"

"No, Master Al, no…" Dirk latched onto the boy's arm, shaking his head frantically. His big ears flopped onto his cheeks. "You mustn't; you mustn't…"

"Am I a Potter or what?" Albus asked, glaring at the house elf.

The girl was no longer by the window, but Albus was now determined to find out who she was and whether she needed help. It was one thing to be reluctant walk into the enemy's lair for fear of your own safety; it was quite another when you must do it to help another person, especially a girl.

"I am going," the boy said, looking at the distraught Dirk. "And don't you dare stop me. I forbid it.

The elf sighed in defeat, but then his ears lifted and his eyes flashed:

"I am going with you."

"As you wish," Al shrugged his shoulders, thrusting his hand in his pocket before recalling where his wand had been taken. Well then, he now had two reasons to enter his enemy's home.


	27. Part 3 - Chapter 3 - Xenia Verdi

_**Chapter 3. Xenia Verdi.**_

Well, even the new location brought no real change in the conditions of her detainment.

Xenia smiled in the gloom of her new cell: what else could she do? She paced the stone-walled room, trying not to worry and not top think of what lay ahead. And about Lily.

She forced herself to block the mental link to save her strength. If something bad happened to her friend, Xenia would sense it anyway: strong emotions would penetrate any block. And she could use all the strength she had now.

So, it was the Zabini after all; perhaps, only pawns in someone else's game, but they were involved. And, somehow, that gave her hope. Maybe because Xenia knew them – both Fritz and Priscilla. She could guess at what turn the events could take. And, knowing that, it was easier to prepare for it.

She must have drifted off, standing by the cool wall, for she started when she heard footsteps in the dark corridor. The candle light approached slowly, with Fritz Zabini's figure becoming visible just as slowly. He didn't say anything, staring at his captive, then opened the door with a grating sound and grumbled:

"Let's go."

Xenia obediently followed the chap, sensing upset, anger and hope coming off him in waves.

"Where are we going?" Xenia asked, surprised at Fritz's walking in front of her without looking back; he seemed unconcerned that she could attack him from behind.

"Walk on and be quiet," Fritz grumbled once again, shifting his shoulders uneasily. For a moment, the girl was hopeful that he would let her go; but only for a moment. Because this would not be at all like Zabini; they were anything but altruistic…

They followed the dark hallways and Xenia suddenly became aware that her guide was saying something: very quietly, as though talking to himself. She tried to catch the words, walking as quietly as she could.

"Not a dolt… Simply ill… She'll understand… "I'll prove to her…"

Xenia relaxed, for the first time beginning to make sense of this. So, Fritz had spoken to his sister, who was disagreeing with him about something. And now they were doing Priscilla's bidding. What was it?

"Fritz, do you know what will happen to Lily?" Xenia asked a very different question from the one that was on her mind.

"The gingers of this world were never very lucky," Fritz smirked, looking back at her for the first time. He looked gloating.

The girl fell silent – it appeared that Fritz didn't know anything himself.

"Where are we going?"

"We are here," the chap pushed the wall and it slowly slid aside. They found themselves in a well-lit corridor, full of sunlight. There were three doors, one of them ajar, with voices coming from it.

"Be quiet," Fritz hissed, nudging Xenia toward another door.

They entered, Zabini closed the door thoroughly behind them and waved his wand, clearly casting protective spells.

From the chair rose Priscilla Zabini. She glanced at Xenia and shifted her cold eyes to her brother:

"So, this is you yet another stupid joke…"

Priscilla sank back into the chair; Xenia noticed that her beautifully shaped, antique statue-like arms trembled with fatigue.

"I think we ought to order mourning cloaks," she said, looking at no one in particular.

Fritz was clearly afraid for his sister; he dashed toward her, clasping his hands almost pleadingly:

"Let her help you, Pris…"

"You fool!" Priscilla hissed, glaring at him witheringly, pushing him away. "The cloak for your funeral!"

"What?" the chap was clearly at a loss. Xenia was still standing by the door, warching Priscilla warily. So, that's what Fritz needed her for. And Priscilla really was ill. "For my…?"

"Yes, because Malfoy and his buddy Potter will grind you into Floo powder and toss it into the nearest fireplace," Zabini said cruelly, nodding at the captive frozen by the door. "And I shall not move a finger to stop them."

"They don't know she is here," Fritz said, clearly proud of himself, his back straitening. "They have been here already and didn't find anything."

"Don't hold Malfoy for an idiot! It won't be the first time you underestimated him! And so did I…"

Xenia watched Priscilla closely. It seemed to her that the girl could have said these words with love, if not for the hatred she had for Scorpius. Or was it that love and hatred had long mixed together in Priscilla Zabini's dark soul?

"He won't know," stubbornly, childishly insisted Fritz. It seemed that the brother and sister had forgotten all about Xenia's presence. "She will cure you, and then it won't matter; let them do with me what they will."

These words appeared to shift something about the room. At least, Priscilla's facial expression changed: she was now looking at Fritz with almost pity.

"You dolt," she said softer now, turning toward the window. "They are using you, and you are perfectly happy to let them."

"Using me?"

"Yes!" she got to her feet, looking at Fritz. "What do you have that head for?! Do you think that this secret avenger would give up – out of the goodness of his heart – part of the leverage he has over Malfoy – the man he allegedly aims to destroy?"

"He said that he didn't need…"

"Shut up! You ought to think for yourself!" Priscilla shouted, but then took a deep sigh and spoke softer: "When Malfoy learns that his cousin is here," Zabini pointed at the still motionless Xenia, "you won't be able to convince him that you don't know where his redhead girlfriend is."

"Wife," Xenia spoke out for the first time, leaning against the wall.

"What?" Fritz started, and Priscilla blanched, sinking into the chair. She seemed on the point of gasping.

"Lily is Scorpius' wife," the healer remarked, smiling softly.

"Fritz, you are a dead man," Priscilla stated plainly. "You were played. While Malfoy is torturing you, the other one will laugh on the sidelines, continuing with his game, in which you, my silly little brother, are but a pawn."

The younger Zabini seemed to be catching on. He became very pale and shrank back against the wall, looking helplessly at his sister:

"He won't… But you… Pris! I… I simply want to help you!"

"You can't help me!"

"She is a great healer," the chap pointed a finger at Xenia, who straightened up, "you know that! Everyone knows that she saved Harry Potter…"

"Don't put so much stock in rumours," Priscilla replied coldly, back to her chair.

"She will help you! I'll force her!"

"I do not need to be forced," Xenia spoke calmly, drawing both Zabinis gazes. "If I am able to help, I shall. But you must let me go, it is very important."

"No, you will stay and cure Priscilla!" Fritz said angrily.

"Shut up, both of you," Zabini cut them off coldly. She raised her eyes to her brother: "Leave us."

"What?"

"Leave us alone."

Fritz froze in consternation, looking from Priscilla to Xenia. Then he started toward the door, still struggling to understand.

"If anything, I…"

"Get out," Priscilla said, angrily now.

The door closed on Fritz, leaving the two girls in silence. Zabini stared at the curtains of her four-poster bed.

"Priscilla, what's wrong with you?" Xenia asked calmly.

They did not know each other well, although they shared a room for a time at Hogwarts. Xenia could only remember a couple of occasions on which they spoke: the usual girly chit-chat, or about Hogwarts. It was during Xenia's first week at the school. After that, the werewolves entered their lives, and the girls found themselves on the opposite sides of the barricade. Xenia remembered Priscilla on the evening when Scorpius Malfoy paid a visit to her and Fritz, burning with hatred for Lily's kidnapping. Xenia never felt that hatred – maybe because revenge was never an option for her.

"I don't need your care," Zabini responded promptly, staring coldly at Xenia. "You can't help."

"You were examined at St. Mungo's, weren't you? What did the doctors say?"

"Whatever the newspapers reported."

"And in truth?" Xenia watched the other girl closely, and was not able to find a single symptom consistent with the diagnosis the reporters conveyed. No, her mind seemed perfectly sound.

"Never mind," Priscilla stood up. She appeared to be pondering something, trying to find a way out of the precarious situation he brother found himself in. "I cannot just let you go, it is absurd…"

Xenia was silent, looking at the girl. What did Azkaban do to her? The healers were not likely to simply let her go. There must be something that forced the examiners let Priscilla go home. Something that made her incarceration pointless; that made punishment irrelevant…

"You are dying, aren't you?" Xenia asked softly. Priscilla started, turned sharply, nearly dropping the cup on the tea service table. "And your family don't know about it. Fritz doesn't know."

Priscilla was silent, seemingly at a loss for words. Or unwilling to say anything. She watched Xenia coldly for several moments, then nodded, her mind made up.

"I cannot let you go. But I shall make my move before the secret benefactor, who set my naïve brother up so brilliantly, makes his. I shall outplay him."

Xenia looked questioningly at Priscilla.

"I shall be the one to tell Malfoy everything."


	28. Part 3 - Chapter 4 - Ron Weasley

Chapter 4. Ron Weasley.

How do you get used to the unexpected twists of fate? How do you not get frightened, when the smooth coasting of your life is suddenly caught in a waterfall that tumbles you, whirls you, pushes you under, drops you in a rushing stream, and pushes you back to the surface? How do you foresee and prepare for that?

Ron followed his daughter out of the fireplace – Rose looked back at him a little uncertainly. She had changed a lot – and he had a good idea why.

Theodick strode out his office, wiping his hands on a towel. Behind him, like a puppy, followed Bertie. It seemed that, any moment now, the girl would clutch at the healer's cloak. That's what a powerful character does…

Ron was about to grin, when his eyes met Theo's dark gaze, and he froze:

"Sarah?"

"We must wait," Theodick said calmly, taking a step toward Rose. "What happened?"

"Albus is gone," the girl sighed heavily, taking her mate's burn-covered hands into hers. Ron looked away and tried to smile at Bertie. She turned her face away, but then her lips trembled, she shuddered, and in a moment she ran into Ron's arms, as he knelt before her.

"Tell me that she isn't…?" Bertie whispered, sniffling.

"Of course, not," the man said indignantly, listening as Rose, quietly (to spare Bertie any more fright), told Theo of what they'd seen in James' house. "She will get better, especially now that Theo is treating her."

"He hardly speaks at all," the girl whispered, glancing back at the healer. "But he is so strong… And Al loves him. Did you find Al?"

"No," Ron shook his head, getting to his feet, his eyes on Rose and Theodick. "He… he is with his brother."

Rose smiled sadly, but didn't say anything.

"Let's go, Bertie, you ought to get some rest," Ron's daughter took the younger girl by the shoulders. "Your mum is asleep anyway; is something changes, we'll let you know at once."

"No…"

"Bertie, you have to sleep," calmly, as though they were back in their mountain home, said Ron, stroking Bertie's hair.

"You won't send me back to school, will you?" the girl asked pleadingly. "Not while Mum…"

"Of course, not," Ron said, looking at Rose. His daughter nodded and genly led Bertie to the stairs.

He and Theo were now alone - and tense silence enveloped them. The healer did not seem bothered by it at all.

"If you want to ask something – go ahead," Theodick said, sitting down in the chair and using his wand to light the fireplace.

"Will Sarah survive?" the words were getting out of his throat with difficulty.

"I don't know," the dark eyes did not and would not lie, nor would their owner. "A lot of time was lost."

Ron nodded – it was as though his soul was an ice rink, and sharp blades had started their sliding dance; Hermione used to love skating…

"Where is Hermione?" Ron asked, before he could catch himself.

"She and Mr. Potter went somewhere on Ministry's business," Theo's expression did not change, he seemed to overlook his interlocutor's discomfiture. "I am not sure when they are due back."

Ron nodded, turning away: this man made him feel like a stranger, and a dangerous one at that. Although, come to think of it, he was a stranger here. And he was a danger – to this world that has come together in the past four years.

"Have you learned to control your wolf self?"

Ron started and turned around – Theo was watching him intently. Ah, right, Rose had written him about her boyfriend's working closely with the werewolves after their ringleaders were destroyed. He helped them to tame the beast that was inside every new werewolf.

"Is that important?" Ron got his feelings under control and sank languidly into the chair opposite his future son-in-law.

"What did you feel when you entered James Potter's home?"

Ron looked in surprise at Theodick's unperturbed face, framed by dark hair. What was he getting at?

Theodick straightened in his chair, the corner of his well-defined lips twitched, as though teased by a smirk.

"Something strange is happening…"

Ron started when Rose appeared behind him. She was wrapped in a dark tartan. His daughter sat next to Theo and looked at her father.

She was noticeably worried, and Ron once again noted the changes in her. She became softer, more emotional. As though she now always felt a strong wall she could lean on. The man, next to whom she could show weakness… the way he and Hermione never gave her a chance to be.

"And you must sense it sharper than we can," Theo sat upright, putting his palms together in front of him. "I received a letter from St. Mungo's: they are looking for Xenia. And this," the young healer waved his wand, and a fresh issue of _The Magic Tidings_ lay before Ron. "The new Seeker of the _London Lacewings_ didn't show up for the game."

"And Al is nowhere to be found," Rose got up, clasping her hands, just like Hermione often did. "Merlin forbid, Mum and Uncle Harry find out!"

Ron looked away, down at his large, unmanicured hands.

"Where's Malfoy?" Theo turned his head toward the worried Rose, and she immediately ceased to flounce around the room, as though the healer's mere glance helped to calm her.

"Well, of course," she nodded, "Where there is Malfoy, there is Jim… But Xenia? And why didn't he come to the game?"

"Once we find Malfoy, we'll get all the answers," The said calmly. Rose nodded again, and rushed over to the desk for the quill, to write the note – the addressee was obvious even to Ron. He watched with a faint smile as she was writing the letter to the insufferable Slytherin – biting her lip, swiping her hair out of her eyes. His heart clenched with dull anquish, which he promptly suppressed.

It is a good thing that they are away…

"Someone was at James' house," Theo leaned back in his chair. "A stranger, given the unmistakable wolfish instinct. And a wolf is the same as a dog, in this case…"

Ron raised his eyebrows in surprise: what does a dog have to do with it?!

Rose looked up from her letter – she seemed to have a clearer idea.

"But that won't help us learn more, Theo," Ron's daughter was looking at her mate a tad frightened. "Who knows who that person was?"

"It was someone who left behind an aura of a threat," the healer reminded, turning toward Ron. The other man nodded, because he had definitely sensed something threatening in James Potter's home. "Even this information is useful."

"Let's wait for news from Malfoy," Rose suggested, before interrupting herself: "The time is against us now, isn't it? The scent…"

"Will dissolve," Ron nodded, knowing now what they wanted him to do. "But this is absurd…"

"What exactly?" Theo drew closer to him.

"Well, let's suppose that I shall transform into a wolf. Yes, I will sense many smells and all kinds of things, but it will all be for naught: I will be a wolf, an uncontrollable beast who knows and remembers nothing."

"Daddy, but this is where Theo comes in," Rose put her hand on Ron's shoulder.

"Excuse me?" he asked, confused.

"I can control your mind," the healer remarked laconically.

"You will be a wolf physically, but Theo can block the werewolf from entering your mind. You will be youself."

"Except for the ability to speak," Theo smirked, shrugging his shoulders.

"He has done it many times, Daddy," Rose said softly. An owl sat on her shoulder and the girl busied herself with tying the letter to the bird's leg and letting it out of the window.

"Is this possible?" Ron asked warily, remembering the horrid moments when he transformed, losing first his body, then his self-control, and finally, his mind. It was as though his thoughts were thin threads that broke, one by one, letting loose something scary, dangerous that always lurked in the back of his consciousness. The Wolfbane potion helped strengthen these threads, and he remained himself, but he was weak, inert, exhausted. Plus, the potion only worked during full moon, and could not accommodate random transformations.

"I can force you to transform," Theo said curtly, getting up and watching Rose returning to them. "I can help you retain your consciousness. Not for long. And you will feel pain.

"I am not afraid of the pain," Ron snorted and winked at his daughter: Rose was clearly against the idea. "But what if we are making a mole out of an anthill?"

"Have you ever been wrong about your premonitions in the last four years?" Theodick asked calmly, his arm around Rose's shoulders – the girl was frowning, looking from her father to her mate.

"No."

Theo shrugged his shoulders, as though punctuating an effective stop to further discussion.

"With any luck, this will help is figure out Albus' whereabouts before Uncle Harry gets winds of his disappearance," said Rose, with a hopeful glance at Theo.

"I want to look in on Sarah," Ron nodded at the door to Theo's exam room. The healer shrugged again (he clearly was not a man of many words), then glanced at his watch, as though to indicate that they were almost of out time. "I must see her…"

Ron walked into a sun-filled room that was Theodick's study and then on to a small chamber beyond, where the curtains were closed, to keep the sun from disturbing the patient.

Saral lay on her back, her arms stretched along her slender body. Her face was serene, without a trace of the fatigue and torment etched in it in the days leading to their trip. Ron sat on the edge of the bed, took her warm hand, and leaned down to kiss it, as he often had done back at their far-away mountain cottage.

"You will get well, I promise you, darling," he thrust a hand in his red hair that she was so fond of threading through her fingers. "You rescued me, and I shall do the same with you."

He didn't know if Sarah could hear him, but he dearly wanted her to.

"You know, I finally saw her… Rose," Ron said, stroking Sarah's fingers. "Do you remember how I dreamed of it? How I tried to imagine what she would be like? You know, she is not the way I imagined. She is different. No, she appears… Well, she seems to feel better next to the Snape kid. We never let her be soft, be a little vulnerable. And here, in this house, it is as though she was able to breathe fully, to allow herself to not be like… like Hermione."

He flinched at hearing himself say the name. Ron stood up, slowly laying Sarah's hand down, then leaned over to kiss her forehead.

"You can't imagine how right I was, saying that Potters are not likely to live peacefully, that they always must be in the thick of things. And here we are, at the next party for the anxious and uncertain…" Ron murmured with a sad smile. "I shall be back shortly."

Ron walked into the living room and froze. Theo turned around and put his finger to his lips: Rose was asleep in the chair.

"I put her to sleep; she is too tired," Theo said unapologetically, taking his cloak. "Plus, our little plan is not for her eyes."

Ron wanted to ask why, but Theo forestalled him with the answer:

"She has waited too long to see her father again, only to lose him by looking into the eyes of a werewolf."

They silently watched the sleeping girl. Yes, she oughtn't see him transform…

"If you are ready, we should hurry: Al has been gone too long already," Theo headed for the fireplace.

Ron nodded at the healer's back and thought for the umpteenth time that the river of his life was clearly heading toward a waterfall… or was upon it already. And he was not able to stop the current.


End file.
